


From Hell, With Love

by Zeckarin



Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [28]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adam Young Still Has Powers (Good Omens), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Antichrist Adam Young (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Bodyswap, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sentient Bentley (Good Omens), Torture, Whump, angelic wrath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22946989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeckarin/pseuds/Zeckarin
Summary: Aziraphale leaves the bookshop without a word or a note. Crowley doesn't take it very well.But the reason behind the angel's disappearance is way worse than our dear demon thinks.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley & Adam Young (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523585
Comments: 273
Kudos: 236





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I will edit the tags as I go. Prepare for Whump and Hurt, my friends, this will NOT be an easy ride.  
> Happy Ending will prevail.  
> Just... not right now. You will have to be patient.  
> Did I mention the Angst?

The letter arrived directly on his lap, as he was sitting at his desk, taking notes while reading an old war journal he’d acquired through… not _exactly_ one hundred percent legal means.

Engrossed in his reading, and vaguely thinking he should get up and bring back his other WWI trench journals to compare dates and locations, Aziraphale didn’t noticed it immediately.

But the feeling of Heaven coming from the paper was too strong to be ignored for long. He looked down, recognised the golden handwriting, and sighed before reverently closing the manuscript, stroking its stained cover with gentle, gloved fingers, and finally taking a good look at the envelope.

_Aziraphale_

_For your eyes only._

Well. That didn’t bode well.

He opened the letter, frowning slightly. Raphael knew he had no secrets for Crowley. He had been very clear about that. So her asking him to read this alone was either very rude or very concerning. And Raphael was usually not a rude person.

Half an hour later, after having carefully destroyed the letter, a very grim faced angel donned his coat and checked the bookshop’s wards with great care. He looked at his desk and touched it reluctantly to leave the usual message.

_Out. Fine. Back later._

No, he couldn’t bring himself to lie like that. He destroyed the words angrily.

In the back room, Crowley was still sleeping heavily. Raising the demon before noon was always a nightmare, and for once this was something he was grateful for. He looked at him for a few minutes, then reached out to lay a hand on his friend’s forehead and closed his eyes.

“You will sleep deeply, and dream only of pleasant things.”

Crowley frowned a little, mumbled something unintelligible, and buried his head in the couch’s cushions with a groan. He wouldn’t wake for a while. The angel pushed the overwhelming guilt away as he set his friend’s usual mug on the table, performing a small miracle to keep the coffee hot as long as needed.

He would be home before Crowley could even notice his absence, he thought, trying and failing to convince himself that everything was perfectly fine.

"Crowley, I..." he whispered, the words dying on his lips.

 _I am sorry? I have to?_ What could he possibly say? Nothing would have convinced the demon, he knew it perfectly. Under no circumstance would Crowley agree to let him do this.

But someone had to do it. And that someone had to be him.

He checked the wards one last time, then headed to the door without looking back.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Crowley opened his eyes with a groan. He was feeling like waking up after a nightmare, which was very strange, since his dream had been about driving madly in centre London and scaring the living daylights out of innocent passers-by.

Great dream.

He reached out, took his mug of coffee, and slithered to the carpet before taking a sip.

 _Hm_. Heat wasn’t natural. Strange, that. The angel usually timed his drink perfectly and didn’t need to miracle it. Made no difference, but still. Aziraphale was out, then.

Stretching as only a cat ordinarily could, the demon tried to muster enough energy to get up and walk the short distance to the desk.

Check the message, then get back to sleep on the rug in front of the fireplace for a while.

Except there was no message. Crowley frowned, yawned to clear his mind, which didn’t work, and checked again.

No message. That was not normal at all. They always left a message. Always. Rule number one of surviving Armageddon : Leave a message before going out alone.

Crowley was sometimes reckless, and could be forgetful on occasion. That kind of thing could happen to him, it never did yet, but it was a possibility. But for the _angel_ to forget?

No freaking way. His friend was absent-minded on more than one occasion, but he was prudent. Safety was his first concern, and even the promise of a very rare book wouldn’t have him leave the shop without thinking of a message.

But the _coffee_. He'd left the coffee, as usual.

“What the fucking _fuck_ does that mean?”

Couldn’t assure he would be fine? Or that he would be _back_?

This, decided the demon, grinding his teeth as he looked around in search of a clue, was not a good way to wake up _at all._

_So, Aziraphale had gone out willingly, leaving a coffee and no warning. No immediate danger then, right? Right._

_But no message to tell him everything was fine._

He frowned and focussed on his friend’s Grace. It wasn’t there. Not on earth at any rates, he would sense it, even faintly.

On the bright side, he wasn’t discorporated either. He remembered _that_ feeling quite well, thank you very much. So, not on Earth, but still a corporation.

 _Oh_ , the angel was in Heaven. That stupid, birdbrain angel was back to Heaven for a reason or another, and didn’t want to tell him of course. It had to be that.

Aziraphale in Heaven was not something he wanted to imagine, absent Archangels or not. He didn’t like that idea one bit, and his friend knew it of course, hence the absence of a message.

“I’m gonna _kill_ him. I’m so gonna kill that idiot!” yelled Crowley, joining his hands angrily and closing his eyes.

“Raphael, get your skinny ass here, _right now_!”

He waited a few seconds. Nothing. He knew his prayer had worked.

A cold, murderous spark lighted up in his eyes. Oh, no answer, hey? Did they really think silence would be enough to make him shut up and wait? That he wouldn’t ask _questions_? Were they having bloody tea, discussing some angelic duty on earth? Was Aziraphale thinking of working for Heaven full time again? Without telling him?

With a low growl, he snapped his fingers to conjure a coat and a scarf. He was awfully angry, but it _was_ bloody freezing.

“I’m not going to knock, you wankers! I’m gonna kick that door down and then your asses!”

The Bentley seemed a little surprised to see him out so early. He felt her hesitant question.

“The angel is DEAD MEAT!” he yelled at her, getting off to a flying start.

He was going to climb those fucking stairs and drag his friend back if he had to.

* * *

Aziraphale looked at the stairways. Heaven and Hell’s lobby never had been his favourite place in the world, and today was no exception. At his side, Raphael sighed, her face grim and tense.

“I wish you luck. God knows you will need it.”

“I will be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” promised the angel, trying and failing to sound confident. “I am counting on you, Raphael,” he added in a clipped voice.

“I will keep my promise. Try to keep yours, will you?” answered the Archangel gloomily.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and nodded to himself before stepping on the stairs.

In seconds, the floor swallowed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know! I KNOW! I warned you didn't I?  
> And yes, it will be a while before the angel takes the stairs back...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has a bad surprise (not that Hell has any other sort) and Crowley suddenly realises that his friend isn't in Heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some answers and more questions here, because I am a sadistic demon^^  
> Hope you'll enjoy!

  
  


Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Do _not_ panic.

Aziraphale tried to take a deep breath to steady himself. Anathema had told him one day it helped in case of a panic attack.

Big fat lie apparently. It didn’t help one bit. How was it possible? How could he be willingly going down to Hell AGAIN?

He was already feeling the shadows closing in on him, crushing him under their weight.

He _had_ wanted to work on his claustrophobia. Had done his best to hide it from Crowley since Armageddon. But every time he’d thought about doing something about it, there was some other thing needing attending to. Fighting Primal Holy monsters. Fighting demons. Saving people. Eating cake. Bickering with his friend…

 _No. Do not think about Crowley. Think about your fear of dark and underground, shallow corridors, and cold, damp_ dark _places._

 _Well, you didn’t take the time to cure it, now deal with it, you foolish Principality_ , he thought angrily.

Better focus on that. On his foolishness. On the dark about to strangle him. On the strange echoes as his feet moved in the damp corridor, following the demon that was leading him to “The counsel”.

_Do not think about Crowley._

Counsel, really. Like this was something common, like this was a carefully planned meeting, and not a rushed, anxious affair where both parties were ready to jump at each other throats.

At _his_ throat.

No. Not thinking of that either, that wouldn’t be helpful at all. Who would be the other party? Dagon? It was the obvious choice, but you never knew. It couldn’t be Hastur, since the Duke was under a demonic oath forbidding him to approach or talk to the angel. But Hell didn’t know that, so if Satan had asked Hastur to take care of that affair, there would be some embarrassment to be had.

How long had it been? His talk with Raphael had taken the best part of two hours. If he played it well, if he succeeded in convincing Hell that this was all a misunderstanding… he may be able to come back to the bookshop before it was too late. Before Crowley realised where he was, and what he was doing.

Still following the demon, Aziraphale started to pray silently.

_Please, Lord, please help me make them understand Heaven has nothing to do with this. Help me make this work. For peace. For humanity. And if possible, help me make it before the end of Crowley’s nap? That would be ver y-_

The demon in front of him stopped. Aziraphale looked around. He knew this room. Wide (by Hell’s standards at least), cold, dark and damp (how original). The only difference since last time was the absence of a bathtub. He very carefully didn’t let his eyes linger that way and focused on the throne in front of him, taking in the person sitting on it and feeling dread and sorrow overflow him.

 _Fuck_.

So this _was_ a trap. He’d known it was a possibility, but this was a bad surprise nonetheless.

 _Keep a neutral face,_ he ordered himself, conjuring the soldier sleeping somewhere inside him _. Do not show anger. Do not show defeat. Do not let them see what you feel._

 _Oh, dear... Crowley is going to go_ spare _._

* * *

Crowley intended to head directly towards Heaven’s stairs, and felt mildly surprised to see an Archangel waiting for him in the lobby. Short, slim, honey skin and large dark eyes, long black braid over her shoulder. What was Raphael doing here? Alone?

_Where is Aziraphale if she’s here?_

He was surprised, but not enough to stop walking. Instead of taking the stairs, he grabbed Raphael by the collar of her dress.

“Crowley. I have to tell you some-”

“Where is he?” yelled the demon.

“I assure you there is no-”

“Where is Aziraphale? Bring him here right now! You hear me? NOW!”

“For the love of God, Crowley, listen to me!” snapped the angel, freeing herself from Crowley’s clutches effortlessly.

That was kind of insulting. She could at least pretend to struggle a little. Spare a demon’s pride.

“Listening. Why is he Up There? What do you want? Why didn’t he warn me? I swear that if you’re trying to get him back against his will I-”

“He is not in Heaven,” provided the Archangel.

That wanker was trying to _lie_ to him. Lie. To him, the ultimate Liar.

“I know he is. He’s not on Earth. I would feel it, so don’t you dare lie to me!”

“I don’t lie, Crowley. Aziraphale is not on Earth, but he is not in Heaven either.”

_W hat? What does that mean? Makes no sense. He can only be on Earth or Heaven. The only other place…_

_No, it can’t be. Not there. He’s not there, there’s no way he would..._

Silence stretched for several seconds, and the demon’s eyes grew wider and wider. Raphael looked away. This was too much pain to be witness to.

“No,” breathed Crowley, his eyes fixed on the descending stairway. “No, that’s impossible.”

“I am sorry. It is the truth.”

Crowley was shaking his head, thinking of every argument against that idea, because it was not possible, this was not happening. Something was screaming inside his head like a beast wounded to death.

“No no no, you’re lying, no angel can be brought to Hell unwillingly,” he murmured. “They can’t have him.”

He rounded on the Archangel and pointed a sharp, trembling finger at her. “He’s up there, and you are trying to cover it. What have you done to him?”

But Crowley’s gaze wasn’t accusatory, and his voice was pleading. there was no fight left in him. His heart had already accepted what his mind hadn’t.

“He entered it of his own free will. He will come back. This is just for a moment. He will be back soon,” promised Raphael.

The demon wasn’t listening anymore, frozen in place, looking at the same spot, the place where the stairs disappeared on the ground. His usually crowded mind was entirely blank now, save from a cold, emotionless voice.

_Hell. In Hell. Aziraphale. In Hell._

He blinked, and the wave of feelings and thoughts that had waited politely for his mind to reboot crashed over him. Hard.

He remembered that feeling. Christmas night. The angel, bleeding on the floor. Demons about to tear him apart. Hellfire.

_They’ll kill him. They’ll kill him on sight._

He rushed to the stairs, his body moving on its own volition. He didn’t make it two steps before Raphael had him pinned to the wall.

“Do not act stupidly, demon!” she barked, her tiny corporation overpowering his without effort.

“Let me go before I cut your fucking throat!” yelled Crowley, clawing ruthlessly at her arms. Golden ichor ran down the Archangel’s forearms. She didn’t move an inch, her face impassible.

“You cannot enter Hell. They would kill you on sight. Aziraphale will come back.”

“He’s an _angel_! Do you know what happens to angels in Hell? They’ll rip him apart! They’ll pluck his feather and _burn_ him!” cried the demon desperately, still trying to rip that fucking hand off her arm.

“No, they won’t. He is there to negotiate with them.”

Crowley stopped his struggle, looking back at her incredulously.

“To _what_?”

“Negotiate. Discuss. Hell asked for a spokesperson. They promised to let him go unharmed once the matter is settled,” explained Raphael, releasing him and taking a step back.

Crowley wasn’t fooled. She was ready to stop him again if needed.

“What the fuck is the matter? And why Aziraphale? What is going on here?”

The woman-shaped entity raised her hands placatingly. Crowley couldn’t help but notice the absence of wounds. Trying to hurt the Angel of Healing wasn’t a very productive endeavour.

“I will tell you everything. But you have to calm down. I will not let you take those stairs, and you know I am stronger than you.”

“I’m perfectly calm!” shouted the demon, his eyes darting around, still searching for a way to get past her.

“Michael disappeared yesterday. And so did Beelzebub.”

Crowley looked at her in confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

“They are missing. Michael isn’t on Earth anymore. And Beelzebub isn’t in Hell. Of course they think Heaven has something to do with the Prince of Hell disappearing. They threaten to attack us if we didn’t release them. I told them we were missing an Archangel too, and they agreed to a meeting…”

Crowley stared. Blinked. “Are you fucking _stupid_? It’s obviously a trap!”

“It is unlikely. Michael is missing too, remember? And angels cannot be dragged into Hell.”

“Unwillingly. They can’t enter Hell _unwillingly_. Michael did it before, why do you think she wouldn’t do it again?”

“Why, Crowley? Why would she do that?”

“To kill Aziraphale! For revenge, stupid!”

Raphael shook her head. “Michael has been punished for trying to kill Aziraphale already. She knows God wouldn’t approve. And Beelzebub has no interest in punishing him. Aziraphale is not important enough for such a scheme.”

“Not important enough?” growled Crowley. “He is to _me_!”

“You know perfectly well what I meant. They didn’t even ask for him specifically. Just for an angel to talk in Heaven’s name. I wanted to go but they refused."

Of course they would. An Archangel was way too powerful to be granted access to Hell, specially if Beelzebub wasn't there to fight back. But if they hadn't disappeared at all and _were_ in Hell, refusing Raphael's suggestion was taking another meaning.

Crowley huffed. “Come on, it was obvious it would be him. He’s the only one smart enough to be able to talk to demons without insulting them. Beelzebub is perfectly fine. I bet they’re laughing in his face right now.”

But the more he thought about it, the less it made sense. Michael and Beelzebub uniting to get revenge on two low-grade underlings? Nah, that was unlikely. They’d tried and failed already.

Maybe it was the truth. Maybe these two wankers had disappeared and Aziraphale was trying to determine what had happened to them exactly.

Maybe Hell would agree to work with Heaven on that one. Make a truce until they retrieve their assets.

Maybe in one minute, Aziraphale would come back, all flustered and nervous, and would apologise countless times, and Crowley wouldn’t even _look_ at him, wouldn’t talk to him for _weeks_ for scaring him like this.

* * *

In Hell, Aziraphale looked straight at the throne.

“Hello, Lord Beelzebub.”

He then turned to the person sitting on an ornate chair just besides the Lord of the Flies.

“Hello, Michael. What a relief to see you alive.”

Beelzebub smiled.

“You were right, Michael. He _did_ come.” They waved lazily at two demons near the door. “Take the bait to hizz cell. I will deal with him later.”

 _Bait_ , thought Aziraphale as he was escorted through another dark, cold, dripping corridor.

_I’m bait. That doesn’t make any sense. Why do they want Crowley that much?_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was kind of angsty...  
> But it is only the beginning. The whump is starting next chapter, so prepare for some Hurt!Aziraphale guys.  
> So sorry in advance.  
> Keep the happy ending in mind, right? we will get there eventually.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets painfully acquainted with the Lord of the Flies.  
> Crowley is searching for a way to get to Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for torture, guys. Nothing graphic exactly, but Aziraphale suffers, so I'll sum up this chapter in the end note for those who don't want to read that.  
> I am so sorry for the Whump !

« Call for help, » asked the voice dispassionately.

Aziraphale shook his head, not trusting his voice anymore. He hadn’t let out a sound so far, but knew he was reaching his limit.

_Don’t talk. Don’t let them know how much you hurt._

“Call for help and I will stop. I have better thingzz to do with my time, you know. The world izzn’t revolving around you, Principality.”

_Oh, I am ever so sorry to inconvenience you, Lord Beelzebub. Is torturing me boring you?_

This should not anger him. This calm, detached voice, these eyes that showed no pleasure nor disgust.

They were hurting him efficiently, like it was a chore to be get over with. And God, were they good at it. Probably centuries of training.

The Lord of the Flies disappeared from view, and Aziraphale squashed a new wave of terror, fighting back an urge to struggle. It wouldn't do any good, not with these carved shackles blocking any use of Grace. He heard his tormentor fumble behind him, choosing their next tool on the wooden table. That was the worst part, imagining what they would bring back. He already felt like a helpless butterfly, pinned to that damned table with tools sharp enough to cut through muscle and bones as easily as a knife through butter.

His left arm, he knew it, was useless. He could still flex his right fingers, but wasn’t feeling very optimistic. Another stabbing would render him unable to touch anything for days, which would make it even more difficult to escape.

The Archdemon came back into view. He stared right back into their eyes.

_Do not look at their hands. Do not give them the satisfaction._

Beelzebub nodded.

“You are very rezzilient. I can respect that. Unfortunately, I have to finish this quickly. No more time to fool around. Maybe another day, but for now...”

They rose their hands. Aziraphale’s breath itched. He had hopped the torture would be confined to his corporation. Futile hope, of course.

What would it be? His wings? His Grace? They could even get to his core with that thing, being given the time. This tool could force him to manifest his true form.

_Do not show fear._

“Call for help?” suggested the demon, tilting their head.

He didn’t answer. Beelzebub smiled coldly, their first show of emotion in hours.

“Michael warned me you were a stubborn one. Why don’t we take a look at your wings?”

He unfolded them out of the ethereal plane and extended them defiantly. He would not give them the satisfaction of forcing him to manifest them.

The Archdemon’s eyes widened in surprise for a second. They nodded approvingly.

“You are not a coward, angel. I have to grant you that.”

They approached and grabbed his left wing in an iron grip, coldly assessing the best place to strike. “Not that it will change anything, of course. You _will_ call for help eventually. You know it.”

Oh, he _knew_. Torture wasn’t stranger to him. Millenniums with humans had taught him that everyone, _everyone_ had a breaking point that could be reached under an expert’s ministrations.

Beelzebub was a master. They would not let him discorporate or get mad. There was no escaping them.

He had healed victims of torture. Failed to heal some of them. Mending a broken spirit was much more difficult than a body, it was about taking a part of the pain as much as a part of the memories, and sometimes there was too much damages. He knew a lot about torture, more than he would have wanted.

He would break. They both knew it.

But not now. He could endure more. He could not let despair take roots, it would be the end, he knew it. And he could _not_ let Beelzebub obtain what they wanted. He wouldn’t call.

Hope was the best weapon he had now. And he was good at hoping. Always had been.

Something _snapped_ , and Aziraphale lost his train of thought as a strangled cry escaped his lips. The pain was so sharp he hoped for a second he would lose consciousness. He couldn’t feel any of his other wounds anymore, and this was _not_ a reprieve at all.

The Lord of the Flies chuckled.

“Finally. I wazz starting to think I’d lost my touch. let’s see if I can make you _sing_ , angel.”

* * *

  
  


Crowley was heading back, driving madly through London’s streets. Raphael didn’t follow, she knew he had no other way to Hell than the stairs now that his bosses had “fired” him.

She hadn’t say a thing, but he had a fairly clear idea as to the reason to her presence in the lobby. She wouldn’t let him through as long as Aziraphale was down there, because that blessed angel probably had made her swear on it.

_Well done, angel. Good thinking on that one._

_Shame you weren’t that protective about_ your _life._

The archangel seemed to think waiting was the sensible thing to do. Well she may be right, but sensible had never been one of Crowley’s favourite words.

His angel was in Hell. Fuck the reason, fuck if it was a trap or a bloody political meeting. Aziraphale was in Hell, ergo he had to get there too.

Simple as pie.

He parked in front of the bookshop, stepped out and entered the building decidedly, tips of the hands in his pockets.

Without the slightest hesitation, he aimed for the shelf in the back room.

Nothing forbid a demon to invoke another one. And he _had_ an inside man, after all.

* * *

Aziraphale locked the pain away in a corner of his mind. He couldn’t fold his wings now, not with his broken bones, and had spent an agonising hour searching for a position that allowed him to focus on something else than the blinding ache. Finally, he took a deep breath, clearing his mind as best he could.

He studied his cell for long minutes, lingering on each crack in the stone, each joint in the door. There was nothing he could work on. For now.

There would be _something_. There was always something. He didn’t need much, just a small change. An object forgotten, a door closing half a second too slow, an inexperienced demon coming too close. A pebble on a shoe.

Life was a succession of opportunities. There would be one. In an hour. In a week. He just had to watch out for it and _take_ it. He could not afford to hope for help to come to him. That road led to resignation. Crowley would do something, that was a certainty. But he had no way of knowing what or when, so better not to speculate and find a way out himself. At the moment, his friend didn’t know he was a prisoner, and he had no way to warn him, no way to call _him_.

Beelzebub would only let one particular cry for help get through Hell’s barriers. And it wouldn’t be for Crowley.

Demons were not organised enough to keep him, there would _be_ a window of opportunity. Hopefully before his favourite demon found his way to a place where everybody wished him dead.

And more than all, before Hell’s plan came to fruition.

Dying was not an option.

* * *

  
  


Crowley arranged the candles with a grimace. He was about to light _candles_ _i_ n the bookshop.

The world was probably coming to its end again.

With a heavy sigh, he snapped his fingers. Hellfire was easier to summon than ordinary flames, and the angel wasn't here, so who cared? Anyway, demonic fire was probably more suitable to invoke a demon.

The book in one hand, he read the spell out loud, fighting an urge to roll his eyes.

Half of these words were utterly useless. Only there to make it look ominous. _Humans_.

In the circle of chalk, black smoke swirled and took the shape of a tall, filthy man shaped entity with grim-probably-white fake hair and an old trench coat.

“Crawly! You bastard! What were you doing?”

Crowley bared his teeth. He was not having a good day, and wasn’t in a mood to be yelled at by an incompetent bucket chaser.

“What do you mean you fucker? Is it about Aziraphale? Do you know he's in Hell right now?”

Hastur barked a laughter. “ _Everybody_ knows! He's Beelzebub new toy, stupid!”

Crowley felt his blood froze in his veins.

“What?” he asked tonelessly.

Hastur shrugged. “I thought you knew. they’ve been playing with him for a while now. I've waited for your call all day. What’s the plan? You’ve got a plan, right?”

Crowley considered the Duke of Hell facing him. He felt strangely detached.

Of course he had a plan. A reckless, stupid, dangerous plan. One that Aziraphale would never agree to, one he wasn’t even sure he wanted to think about. At least not until a minute ago.

But he couldn’t care less about the risks _now_.

Hours. Beelzebub had had the angel as their prisoner for _hours_.

He didn’t have time to think of something else. He didn’t even have time to imagine how he would destroy his former boss.

Without a word, he broke the summoning circle with his foot, reaching out to the upper demon.

Hastur frowned at the offered hand. Crowley rose an eyebrow.

“So… “ he said calmly “ _Y_ _ou_ can’t approach him, and _I_ can’t enter Hell...”

He tilted his head and looked at Hastur with cold eyes.

“Ever heard about bodyswap?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Aziraphale got tortured by Beelzebub who wants him to cry for help (we still don't know who is supposed to hear the cry...)  
> Crowley summons Hastur to bodyswap with him and get to Hell in his corporation.  
> Yes. Hastur knows about the bodyswap now.
> 
> Next chapter tomorrow!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell sends someone on Earth to deliver a message and an ultimatum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I am trying my best to post one chapter a day, and so far I did!  
> I hope you will enjoy that chapter.

Aziraphale opened his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts.

Were was he? What was…

He tried to look around and winced as sharp pain exploded in his wing.

Oh, yes. Raphael’s letter, Hell… the trap.

Once more, he reflected that Beelzebub’s plan had been a very smart one. He would appreciate the Lord of the Flies’ intelligence, had it not been used to destroy everything he loved.

Carefully, he tried to move his upper limbs and grimaced. His left arm was still useless, the only sensation from it a burning ache, duller than that of his wing, but constant. His right arm he could still move, but he wouldn’t be able to do anything meticulous, like picking a lock. Had he known how to pick a lock, that is.

First thing he would do once free: learn how to pick locks. Relying on miracles was fine on Earth, but once you couldn’t use your Grace anymore, simple humans things could save your life. And at the moment, he felt very cross with himself for his uselessness.

He knew he was only thinking of all this to distract his mind from his situation. From the next torture session that was obviously awaiting him. He hadn’t called, after all, and that was what Hell wanted.

The burning anger ignited again. How could he have been so stupid? How couldn’t he have seen that coming?

Torture? Ha! The pain was certainly not worse than his feelings when Beelzebub had told him to call for Adam.

 _Adam_ , not Crowley. Of _course_ it was the boy. Michael and Beelzebub wouldn’t team up just to take revenge on them both. They still believed they could bring Armageddon, with Adam’s help.

This was all his fault, naturally. The day Hell had tried to kill him, they had seen Adam’s dark powers unleashed, and they had seen him reach out to him and calm him down. He should have realised how it looked: like he had power over the boy. Like the child was _taking orders_ from him. Hell couldn’t understand this was about love, and trust. All they saw was an angel ordering an Antichrist on a rampage to stop, and the most powerful being on earth _obeying_.

His fondness for Adam had blinded him, and that could very well have signed the boy’s death sentence. If the child came to Hell, his powers wouldn’t be the same. He was born to rule over earth, and that was where he was almost omnipotent. In Hell, he would be no stronger than an average demon. And they would do their best to turn him into a weapon, with Aziraphale’s help.

The only thing the angel didn’t know was if he was here as a simple bait that could be discarded once he fulfilled his goal, or if they intended to break him in order to turn him into Adam’s puppetmaster.

Anyway, that was of no importance. He wouldn’t call. He knew he was far from reaching his breaking point. It would take a lot of time to brainwash him enough to betray his Godson.

He looked at his cuffs, trying to imagine a way to get rid of them. He wouldn’t be able to pull power from Heaven, not down here, but if he had access to his inner Grace, maybe he could find a way out...

How long had he slept? He had been alone in his cell for hours. That was strange, he realised suddenly. Beelzebub had been eager to push him to call, and now they seemed to have forgotten about him. Not that he didn’t appreciate the reprieve, but this was unsettling.

What was happening?

* * *

Adam woke up with a start at Dog’s growling.

There was a demon in the house. A demon wandering in his parent’s house.

The child’s eyes widened and shone a red glow as blind anger washed over him.

How _dare_ they? How _dare_ they enter his town? How _dare_ they walk into his house?

He got to the door and aimed for his parent’s bedroom, warding it from any intrusion with the strongest spell he could think off and making sure not a sound could reach his parent’s ears in the next minutes.

He should find that demon and _destroy_ them for this. He should tear them apart and make them _suffer_ until they begged for deliverance. They would _burn-_

_Now kid, get a grip, deep breath. You can’t let anger control you._

Crowley’s words echoed in his mind. He closed his eyes and reminded himself how to calm his demonic side. After two deep breaths, he opened his eyes again. They weren’t glowing anymore.

 _Think. You can take down a demon_ _on your own_ _, of course you can_. Calling Crowley and Aziraphale first? Or after? He was in no danger, but they would want to know anyway.

He nodded firmly to himself before walking towards the living room. He would call the bookshop once the interloper was back in Hell, where they belonged. Entering the room, he switched on the light.

The demon was woman-shaped, and sitting on his father’s chair. Dog growled again, and Adam petted him distractedly. He knew her. She was one of the demons that had tried to kill his uncles.

“Dagon, is it? What are you doing into my house?” he asked in a cold tone. It didn’t feel right to talk that way to an adult, but he was fairly certain his mother wouldn’t mind him not being polite in this circumstance.

The demon smiled, uncovering long, sharp teeth. Adam huffed. What a show-off.

“I am here to collect you, young Master.”

The child pondered, frowning, and shoved his hands in the pockets of his pyjamas. “Like a vegetable, or a stamp?”

Dagon blinked, unsettled. “What is a stamp?”

“You are afraid of me,” observed Adam breezily. “Why are you here if you are afraid of me?”

“I am here to lead you to Hell, where you belong,” she declared with all the assurance she could muster. She hadn’t been discorporated on the spot. That was a good thing. Beelzebub would have been very displeased if she’d gotten discorporated on such an important mission.

“I don’t want to go to Hell. You should go now. And if I see another of you here ever again, I will destroy them.”

This was not a threat, this was a statement. The child’s voice was calm and composed, and Dagon watched him in awe as he yawned.

 _The mission, remember the mission,_ she chided herself, snapping her fingers upward to summon… a laptop.

“I have something to show you. Then I will go back, with or without you. But know that if you don’t follow me, he will die.”

Adam felt his chest constrict. He hadn’t pried into the demon’s spirit, because it was not nice to invade people’s privacy, but he did it now, entering Dagon’s mind and exploring her memories, his eyes widening at what he found.

They had his uncle Aziraphale. He was in Hell and they would kill him if he didn’t come. Terror filled his mind.

He had to do something. He had faced Death himself, and stopped the end of the world, he could save his uncle, right? But how? He had no idea. He reached out to the bookshop, hoping against all odds that he would find the familiar presence…

Aziraphale wasn’t there. He wasn’t on earth.

And neither was Crowley.

Dagon hadn’t sensed any of Adam’s actions, which wasn’t surprising since he hadn’t wanted her to, and was powering up the laptop.

“The traitor Crowley has written a report on security cameras some time ago. People agreeing to be spied upon everywhere they go was one of his best inventions. Lord Beelzebub realised it would be useful in this instance.”

She flipped the laptop in his direction and hit a key.

“ _Michael warned me you were a stubborn one. Why don’t we take a look at your wings?”_

Adam gasped and took two steps towards the computer. “Uncle Z...” he breathed. “What… what have you _done_ to him?”

“ _You are not a coward, angel. I have to grant you that.”_

The boy shook his head frantically as he watched the Lord of the Flies grab his uncle’s wing.

“ _Not that it will change anything, of course. You_ _will_ _call for help eventually. You know it.”_

“Stop that! I’m coming with you, tell them to stop!” cried Adam.

Dagon smiled widely. “Oh but I can’t, young master. All that was yesterday.”

Aziraphale’s cry brought Adam’s attention back on the screen.

“Why are you doing this?” he yelled, tears pooling in his eyes. “I said I would come! I would have followed you without you hurting him!”

Dagon was feeling the boy’s powers building up, so strong they were choking her. She snapped her fingers and the laptop disappeared. Adam’s anger subsided, replaced by a cold, awful dread, and he felt tears rolling down his cheeks.

“We wanted him to call for you. It would have been easier for us to have you come Down on your own. But torture didn’t work, so here I am. Will you follow me willingly?”

He knew what it meant. His uncles had told him often enough. Only the souls belonging to Hell could be forced to enter it. He wasn’t a demon, and he wasn’t damned. He had to get there of his own free will. And that, had said his guardian angel and demon, was a good thing, since he wouldn’t be so powerful in Hell. Never, under no circumstance should he leave Earth. Only there would he be safe.

Uncle Aziraphale would be very cross with him, that was for sure.

“I will,” he promised in a trembling voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, no Crowley in this chapter, but do not be afraid, we will have him back tomorrow!  
> Things will start to move faster from now on. I can't wait to write it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets a Young cellmate and is not happy at all about it. He says so in no uncertain terms.  
> Crowley is searching for the right cell.  
> Our three favourite human-shaped entities are about to be reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so exciting! This chapter is the first thing I imagined about that entire fic. I really hope you'll like it!

  
  


Hell. Walking into Hell’s corridors, _again_ . Bloody perfect. And to make things worse, what in _Heaven_ was that freaking corporation? It was uncomfortable, itchy, the handling was awful, and the smell…

_Ugh! you’ll owe me, angel. Big time!_

He was _trying_ to be angry at Aziraphale, he really was. Trying to imagine the best possible insults he would throw at him when all this would be over. But his mind always came back to Hastur’s words, replaying them like a mantra.

_Beelzebub’s new toy._

The Lord of the Flies was good at that. Making people talk. Crushing them under their heels like crumbs until nothing was left but a lifeless, soulless puppet. Failure was not allowed in Hell, and deceiving Satan meant punishment.

If you were lucky, you got Dagon or another unimaginative demon. If not, you got Hastur or Ligur. But passing through Beelzebub’s hands? Nobody wanted to think about it. Crowley had never earned it (thank Someone) and yet had _nightmares_ about it.

The angel had been in Hell for eleven hours. This was a _long_ time, and Crowley was having difficulties controlling his imagination. The strange corporation was at least helping him keep his composure. He had to focus on every movement, to think about each step, and it was a good thing, since the intense dread that threatened to take over was yelling at him _to run and call out for Aziraphale_ until he found him, which would NOT be a smart move.

_Stay calm, walk, and ignore everyone. Stay in character._

Beelzebub didn’t like to walk, they’d rather sit all day long if they had a choice. So the angel had to be near their throne room. He had to find him and… well he hadn’t thought beyond that yet, but he was sure he would come up with something.

Beelzebub’s lair was close.

_Hang on, angel. Hang on, I’m coming for you._

* * *

At the sounds of the bolt to his cell being pushed, Aziraphale startled, biting his lip to hold back a cry at the pain radiating through him at the sudden movement.

Bracing himself, he got to his feet and straightened his back. Time for the second round, then. He could do it. He knew he could endure it. He fought the fear that ordered him to _hide_ , to _run_ , to escape them and not let them _touch_ him.

_Don’t be scared, you ridiculous Principality. They haven’t done anything yet._

The door opened in a long, ominous creak and Michael entered, followed by Beelzebub. Between them…

Aziraphale moved without a thought, dashing forward to grab Adam’s shoulder with his good hand, sending him stumbling behind him. Michael didn’t move, but Beelzebub’s hand shot up at lightning speed and grabbed the angel’s wing right onto the broken bone, their fingers clenching like a vice.

For a second, Aziraphale’s vision whited out. He heard himself scream and felt his knees hit the ground, but the pain was so far away he didn’t even register it, couldn’t feel anything.

 _You are in shock, obviously,_ declared a little voice in his head. A shout erupted behind him.

“Let him go!” yelled a child’s voice in his back.

“Stay back, Adam!” ordered the angel sharply.

Beelzebub smiled, looking behind their prey, before releasing their hold.

“Interesting,” they declared. “He _doezz_ obey him.”

They looked down at Aziraphale, their eyes cold and calculating, like they were considering the best course of action.

“I think we should probably get rid of this one. He izz too stubborn to obey. We only need the boy.”

The strange feeling of detachment that had seized Aziraphale at the sight of his Godson dissolved, giving place to brutal anguish.

_No. Oh Lord, no! I beg you, don’t let them do this! Don’t leave Adam here on his own!_

Michael caught his eyes, and smiled serenely. Beelzebub sighed, obviously bored.

“I’m leaving you one more chance to be useful, Principality. Talk to the boy, make him understand his best interest is to obey us.”

They looked in Adam’s direction and squinted their eyes. “I advise you to look very clozzely at your… keeper, child. What had been done to him is nothing. Be aware that every time you refuzze to obey will have him suffer. He still has a lot of bonezz to break.”

Something was building up in Aziraphale’s chest. Something dark, and burning, and wild.

_You bastards. You absolute, sick bastards._

“How could you do this, Michael?” he asked through gritted teeth.

The Archangel turned to him and tilted her head. “It is all for the greater good.”

He let out a mirthless laugh. “The greater good? Is this a joke? You let Hell take an innocent soul! You _helped_ them lure him somewhere he shouldn’t be!”

She smiled again, a soft, warm smile, and Aziraphale wanted to punch it off her face.

“The Antichrist is anything but innocent. His purpose is to serve Hell.”

“But why? Why are you doing this? You are an angel, why are you here, why are you betraying Her?” he asked desperately.

The Archangel’s mouth set in a grim line. “I will never betray Her. I want to serve Her, and I will. You know my purpose. You know my role in Her Great Plan. I exist to destroy the Beast. Satan and I must meet on the battlefield, at the end of the world, this is my destiny. And you tried to take it from me, Aziraphale. Because of your selfish actions, I have been deprived of my powers. For five years! Do you have any idea of all the blessings I could have performed in five years?”

He looked at her incredulously. “You traded the soul of an innocent… out of pride?”

Her eyes widened in shock. “Of course not! Pride is a sin, you should know it, you indulge in enough of them. All I am doing is for Heaven. The destruction of evil is the most important thing. And I already told you, this child isn’t an innocent.”

The rage in Aziraphale’s chest was howling madly. _Liar. You Liar. You will pay for this. I will make you_ pay _._

“No one is born or created evil, Michael, and you know that. Every damnation is the result of free will, why would the child be an exception? You _know_ I am right. She said it Herself. Hell can not be _forced_ onto someone, and Adam proved it already. He refused to follow Hell’s commands, he made his choice! There is nothing righteous about what you did.”

She blinked several times, her brow furrowing as she looked from Aziraphale to Adam. Beelzebub, hands clasped in their back, was observing them with a strange combination of annoyance and interest. Michael finally shook her head.

“Even if you were right about the child, Aziraphale, that doesn’t change a thing. Armageddon has to take place, and all of this is to serve Her.”

The Lord of the Flies rolled their eyes in silence.

Aziraphale slowly got to his feet, looking straight at the Archangel. “That doesn’t change a _thing_ , you say,” he repeated incredulously. “So you _would_ have let Hell take Adam anyway. Is that true?”

Finally, Michael lost her serene composure and her mask melted into contempt.

“This is too big for _you_ to understand. One soul is _nothing_ in comparison to the Great Plan.”

A spark of satisfaction gleamed in Aziraphale’s eyes, and he raised his chin, glaring at her as he took a step back, extending his arm to signal the boy to stay behind him.

Beelzebub chuckled in delight. Michael looked at them in confusion.

“Oh, you did it now, white wings. Even _I_ know that little speech will earn you more than a slap on the wrist.”

The Archangel’s eyes widened in fear as the smell of rotten eggs invaded the room. Aziraphale turned around to draw Adam close, hugging him clumsily with his good arm. “Do not look, dearest. This will not be a pleasant sight.”

“Look at the bright side,” continued Beelzebub with a satisfied smile, watching Michael fall to the floor with a despaired cry, her wings bursting from her shoulders, feathers starting to glow an infernal light. “You won’t have to wait five years to get your powers back.”

* * *

The cry cut Crowley in half. It was pure despair, terror, and a pain so intense he could almost taste it. He couldn’t even recognize Aziraphale’s voice, but the angelic edge of it was unmistakable. He started to run towards the sound, wishing that the terrible howling would _stop_ , and at the same time hoping for it to go on long enough for him to get there. He skidded to a halt at a corner, and watched with wide eyes as two lesser demons came out of a cell, dragging a squirming, steaming form away.

The cry was coming from it, and that wasn’t Aziraphale.

“Unholy _shit_ ,” he breathed. _Michael_. Michael was _Falling_. This was… impossible. Nobody had Fallen since… since the bloody _Fall_ , Goddammit!

“Find her a bed, she will need to lie down for a while. And far away from here. I don’t want to be disturbed by her annoying wailzz.”

Crowley threw himself backwards, mouthing a long, silent curse. At least he’d found Beelzebub. Which meant that room had a good probability of containing his angel. He watched the two demons carry the Archangel away, unbothered by the occasional flame of Hellfire that shot out of her wings to consume a feather. Memories of his Fall briefly crossed his mind. Becoming a demon was not fast. That one wouldn’t be a problem. He and the angel would be either back to the bookshop or dead long before Michael would be able to stand again.

He focussed on the cell’s door again. Two guards. He could take care of that. But Beelzebub was still inside, and he hadn’t a chance against them. They had been an Archangel once, and no demon in Hell, except of course Satan, could beat them. Some had tried. They didn’t live to regret it.

Waiting then. Waiting for them to go away. Trying (and failing) not to think about was happening behind that door, Crowley melted into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I made an Archangel Fall^^  
> She had it coming since I saw her bring Holy Water into Hell to destroy Crowley, tbh.  
> God is very strict about Free Will, and the place of souls. One innocent soul in Hell is already too many, and Michael should have known better.  
> Next one on my list is that freaking Sandalphon.
> 
> Big reunion in next chapter. FINALLY!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Adam in Hell and Aziraphale hurt, the situation seems hopeless...  
> But this is without counting on a very pissed off demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comfort for Adam and ineffable reunion!  
> Finally!  
> They're not out of the woods yet, but it does look better already...

Beelzebub was extremely satisfied. There was a new respect in their eyes as they looked at Aziraphale thoughtfully.

“This wazz impressing, Principality. We have tried for centuriezz to push Michael over the edge, and you did it in minutes. You should join us and work for the Dark Lord. With the feat you just accomplished, and your influence on our young Master, I could offer you a place as a greater demon. Maybe even a Duke of Hell if you can push the boy to start Armageddon all over again.”

Aziraphale made a face. Adam may be a child, but this was no reason to talk about him like he wasn’t in the room. This kind of attitude was awfully annoying, in the angel’s opinion. He squeezed the boy’s hand in reassurance.

“This is a great honour, but I am afraid I have to decline the offer.”

“You should think about it, Azziraphale. Heaven has clearly underestimated your worth. Hell would never neglect an asset such azz you.”

Aziraphale smiled sourly. “Allow me to doubt it, Lord Beelzebub. I know from experience that they _would_.”

The Lord of the Flies offered him a courteous nod. “I have to admit Crowley’z betrayal makes more sense to me now. You have great demonic qualitiez, and you had millennium to tempt him into betraying us. This really would be a shame to destroy you. You still have time to think about it. Ask the guardz to call for me if you change your mind.”

They walked to the door, then stopped and half turned to add, as if on second thought: “Do not forget to talk to our young Lord. We want him ready to do our binding by the end of the day. You know what will happen to you if he izn’t.”

The door slammed close, and the bolts locked down noisily. Aziraphale immediately turned to Adam, cupping his cheek to tilt his head this way and that.

“Are you alright? What did they do to you? Did they hurt you?” he asked anxiously.

The child felt tears pooling in his eyes under his uncle’s concerned gaze.

“I’m fine,” he managed to sob, and the angel’s eyes hardened for a second, a murderous expression crossing his face before being replaced by tender attention.

“You are crying, my dear child. It is far from fine.”

Adam shook his head, wiping his tears with the heel of his hand. “I’m fine, they didn’t hurt me at all. I was… I was so worried about you. You’re _bleeding_ , uncle Aziraphale.”

The angel waved his hand carelessly. “Nothing to be concerned about, I assure you. This looks way worse than it is. I will be right as rain in a jiffy.”

Adam shot him a glare. “Don’t _lie_ to me, I saw what they did! They _stabbed_ you and they broke your _wing_!”

Aziraphale froze, his breath catching in his throat. “You saw this?” he murmured.

Adam looked away. “They had a video, they showed it to me. I’m sorry, uncle Aziraphale, I know I shouldn’t have followed them, but I couldn’t let them hurt you...I’m sorry...”

His voice broke and he buried his head in his uncle’s chest, hugging him tightly. The angel grimaced in pain, but let out a soothing noise, stroking the boy’s hair gently as he tried to push away the white-hot rage that threatened to overwhelm him again.

 _They will pay for this. They will_ pay _._

“I am fine, dearest. This is not a lie. My corporation can be mended, it will take no time at all once we will be out of here. You have been very brave, entering Hell for me. Do not apologise for acting out of love.”

Adam inhaled slowly, and let go to take a step back, looking at him seriously.

“But how can we _get_ out? This is Hell… I… I don’t have a lot of power here. I cannot even heal you. I tried but… I’m useless.”

“Oh, this isn’t your fault!” the angel raised his right hand, showing the shackles on his wrists. “This device is inhibiting miracles. I can not use my Grace, and you cannot heal me. This has nothing to do with your power, although you probably don’t have a lot here. As for our escape, we will find something,” he added with a confidence he was far from experiencing. “Do not worry, Adam. Power is not everything. Intellect and cunning are way more helpful, and we are far more gifted in these areas than anyone else here,” he stated with a superior pout. “We will get out, I promise you.”

The Antichrist offered him a small, trembling smile. “Yeah. We’ll get out, uncle Z. And we will kick some butts doing it.”

Aziraphale beamed proudly. “That’s the spirit, dear child! But please, do not use that sentence again, it is hardly proper.”

Adam let out a relieved sigh. Aziraphale was still himself. He knew his uncle was strong, and he couldn’t let him down by freaking out and crying like a baby. He was _eleven_ , after all. They had to devise a plan, and he was awfully good at devising plans. But first, he had to ask a Very Important question.

“Where is uncle Crowley?”

Aziraphale grimaced. “Crowley… yes… I haven’t the slightest idea as to his whereabouts, my dear… but I am certain he is _very_ cross with me. I _do_ hope he will be able to forgive me before Easter,” sighed the angel desperately.

Adam gaped. “Easter?”

Aziraphale’s face lighted up. “Oh yes, dear, Crowley signed us up for an Easter Egg treasure hunt organised by the Bodleian Library! The riddles are all about ancient manuscripts, and the first prize is a unique first edition of Emma, with a whole basket of Belgium chocolates...”

His excited voice trailed off as he took in his godson’s blank stare.

“Anyway… it certainly is no longer on his agenda now...” he finished forlornly.

Adam bit his lip and turned away brusquely.

“Are you all right, my dear?”

The boy nodded frantically, trying not to explode into laughter. They were trapped in a cell, in _Hell_ , and Aziraphale had a broken _wing_ and had blood _everywhere_ … and he was worried about _chocolate_! Chocolate!

_Oh, I have to tell that to the others._

“Really, child,” chided the angel, apparently realising that the shaking of his godson’s shoulders was not the result of crying. “There is nothing funny about all this.”

“Sorry, uncle Z,” mumbled Adam, not daring to look him in the eyes.

Aziraphale huffed and made a face, offended. Adam was certain that, weren’t he hurt, he would have straightened his cufflinks with a pout. He reached out and patted the angel’s good arm.

“I’m sure he won’t be mad for long, uncle Z. You’ll get the chocolates. Just pretend to be sad, you know how he is. I’ve got tons of ice cream with that trick.”

An amused smile tugged at the corner of the angel’s mouth. “Thank you my dear. I will keep that in mind. Tell me,” he added, suddenly realising that the boy was alone, “where is Dog? Is he all right? Did the demons...”

“He’s home. I told him to look after mum and dad. I don’t want any demon to get back there.”

“Oh, my dear… I am so sorry about that. I never imagined Hell would be stupid enough to send a demon in your house. Now, why don’t you try to sleep a little? I imagine you didn’t get any rest tonight, am I right?”

“But what about planning our escape? I’m good at planning! Last week, we escaped a trap the Johnsonites ad spent hours digging in the woods for us. _Hours_ , uncle Z! It was a _big_ hole!”

“Oh dear… I will certainly have to have a talk with these young men. Do not try to retaliate similarly, Adam. I forbid you to dig dangerous pits that could break someone’s leg.”

Adam shrugged. Retaliation had already been had, and hadn’t involved any pit (they had abandoned that option after two hours of intense digging had only provided a hole not even large enough to contain Dog.)

“Okay. I promise. So, how do we get out?”

“Ah. The… hum, the getting out is still in process, for the moment. See, the bolts cannot be opened from the inside, and they are heavily cursed. I imagine you do not have any skills at lock picking?” asked the angel hopefully.

Adam grimaced. “I asked mum and dad for a set of picklocks for my birthday, but they said I didn’t need to learn new ways to cause mischief. That’s unfair, because Brian’s brother had told him he would offer him one for HIS birthday, but it’s in _four_ _months_ ,” complained the boy with a tone that clearly stated that four months were practically the same as ten years.

“I will find you one, do not worry,” murmured the angel absent-mindedly, still examining the door’s lock. He darted a glance at the child, but Adam was only wearing his pyjamas and was unlikely to carry anything pointy and metallic in his pockets. His brow furrowed as he took in the boy’s clothings.

“Oh, bother. You are barefoot. You will catch your death here. One would imagine Hell would at least provide warm slippers for the Antichrist.”

A rattling noise echoed in the room. The bolt unlocked.

“Get in the corner, Adam,” asked Aziraphale in that particular tone that Crowley had once described as the _‘Not the time to ask questions’_ voice. “And if I tell you to run, run as fast as you can.”

Adam had a lot to answer to that, but he complied without a murmur. If his uncle managed to get one of the guards out of action, maybe he could take care of the other one.

The door creaked open. The angel tensed. Then he closed his eyes in deep relief, his shoulders sagging.

“Oh, thank the Lord,” he breathed.

Adam frowned. What was Hastur doing here? He stayed out of sight. He had seen enough of the Duke of Hell’s mind to know they could not trust him. But he wanted to be Aziraphale’s friend… so maybe he was here to help.

“No need to be rude,” said Hastur in a clipped voice, his eyes fixed on the angel, eyeing him from head to toes. His face twisted in pain as he discovered the injuries.

“Can you walk?” he added softly.

“I can, dear boy. But I am afraid I will not be able to move fast enough to follow you.”

 _Dear boy_? Thought Adam, frowning. That was wrong. Aziraphale shouldn’t use that name for Hastur.

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about, angel? I didn’t come all the way here to leave you behind! Now stop being stupid and get over here or I swear to Someone I’ll bash you on the head and drag you out!”

Adam inhaled sharply. Hastur’s head snapped. His black eyes widened.

“Satan’s bollocks...” let out the demon.

“Language, dear!”

“Uncle Crowley?” wondered the boy.

* * *

Crowley had waited to be sure that Beelzebub didn’t intend to come back. After the five most excruciating minutes of his existence (second most, actually, if you took into account the bookshop’s burning) he walked to the door. The demons guarding it nodded as they recognized him.

“Duke Hastur.”

_Sorry, pals. But I can’t let you go around blabbering about the Duke of Hell helping a prisoner escape._

Crowley had a whole day of built up pressure to unleash. He let go, feeling his teeth changing into fangs, his nails into claws.

“Is that scales on your face, Duke Hastur?” asked the second guard.

"No, dumbass, I'm just happy to see you," answered Crowley with a bloodcurdling smile.

There was a low growl, a muffled cry, and two soft thumps. Crowley snapped his fingers to get rid of the bodies, forced the bloodlust beast he’d just unleashed and who wanted _**more**_ to crawl back in the darkest corner of his mind, and took a good look at the door.

Standard cell, cursed to open only from the outside. His hand on the bolt, he took a shuddering breath, bracing himself for whatever awaited him. Setting his jaw, he opened.

The angel was standing in front of him. On his feet. Conscious. Obviously pissed off, thank Someone for that. Crowley could have fallen on his knees so sharp was his relief. Aziraphale was still himself.

“Oh, thank the Lord,” let out the angel, and Crowley felt strangely touched to be instantly identified, even in the ugliest body ever created.

“No need to be rude,” he answered out of sheer habit, looking more closely at his friend and realising things were not as fine as he’d first imagined.

There was ichor _everywhere_ , and this time that waistcoat wouldn’t survive it. His left arm was dangling lifelessly, and his wing… oh, _bless it all_ , his _wing_ …

And the relief? Aziraphale was obviously glad beyond words to see him come to his rescue, and Crowley was starting to realize with an ugly feeling of dread that his friend, had he been his usual self, wouldn’t have welcomed him that way. He would have called him reckless and insane to step here when he was Hell’s most hated demon.

“Oh, angel, what did they do to you?” he murmured under his breath. He tried to put a smile on his lips, to no avail.

“Can you walk?” he asked as softly as he could, not wanting to traumatise Aziraphale any further.

That was when things started to get out of control...

* * *

“ADAM? Wha… How… for _badness’s sake_ , what are you doing _here_?”

“I am afraid this is all my doing, my dear. I have been lured here in order to… well, to lure him,” sighed the angel, as Crowley stared with wide eyes at the child. “You understand that with my injuries, and these dreadful cuffs, I would only slow you down...”

Crowley’s head snapped back, and this time the wide eyed stare was for Aziraphale.

“No, T’s alright, we can do it. Don’t worry, angel, we’ll be out in a minute,” he assured with confidence, when what he really wanted to say was _YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME, NO WAY I’LL LEAVE YOU HERE!_

“Crowley, you know I am right. This is the logical thing to do,” stated the angel with a sad smile.

“Ngk.”

“What are you talking about? We won’t leave you here, uncle Aziraphale!”

“Adam,” declared the angel sternly, “I want you to think of the situation very seriously. Three persons, one of them wounded, have very few chances of escaping. But you two can do it, maybe even before someone realise we escaped. I will hide and try to get closer to the exit, and Crowley will come back to help me as soon as you will be out of danger.”

“I came here to help you, uncle Z! “

“The kid’s right.”

Aziraphale gasped. “What? Crowley, you cannot be serious! Our first priority is to get Adam out of here!”

“It is. Of course it is. But you don’t stand a chance if you stay behind. Adam, you’ll help the angel walk. I’ll scout ahead and take care of passers buy.”

The demon gently took his friend’s right hand between his and studied the shackle with a frown.

“Crowley,” started Aziraphale, only to be stopped by two glares.

“I am not leaving you,” declared the Antichrist. “And I can fight!”

“Sorry angel, majority has spoken. I’ll try to find a way to open those disgusting things on the way,” added the demon with a snarl at the cuffs. “And you Adam, try to find a way _not_ to fight. Kids _don’t_ fight.”

Adam didn’t answer that ridiculous statement. He fought all the time. Against the Johnsonites, against Wensley, Pepper and Brian (but mostly Pepper), against Satan and Death, and even against giant Holy monsters once. Kids could definitely fight. But uncle Crowley had strange rules about children, one of them being that kids didn’t fight.

His uncle looked at him, raising an eyebrow like he was reading his mind, before focussing again on the hellish items that were binding the angel’s Grace.

“Aziraphale is hurt. Your job is to help him and protect him if needed. You have to be stealthy and quiet.”

“Like a _ninja_ ,” realised the Antichrist, excited already.

“Exactly like a ninja,” affirmed the demon, nodding seriously. “And I would be the samurai. Real boring, being a samurai. Much more exciting to be the ninja, believe me.”

“Then I imagine I am the useless lord in need of an escort for raising taxes after a bad crop and letting people starve to death. How lovely,” murmured Aziraphale.

For the first time that day, Crowley smiled. On Hastur’s face, it was a creepy sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright everyone, remember the tags?  
> I promised some BAMF Crowley, and I will deliver in next chapter.  
> Stay tuned!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley, Aziraphale and Adam are trying to escape Hell.  
> Escaping Hell, strangely, isn't that easy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY for the delay, guys !  
> Hollidays are over since wednesday, and work was hard (working in an area where you can't just pick up where you left. Things Happen and you have to deal with it, and a LOT happened!)  
> So my brain was washed out. No idea.  
> But it's the week end, and I managed chapter 7. Next one tomorrow of course, I won't let you down two chapters in a row.  
> I hope you'll enjoy it!  
> Happy week end to all!

“We will take the shortest path. More chance of getting caught, but we can’t afford to fool around. We’ll be doomed the second they realise you’ve escaped,” whispered Crowley as he locked the cell’s door.

“I trust your expertise, my dear,” answered his friend with a tired smile. Crowley shot him a concerned look. They had to go fast, but Aziraphale was obviously exhausted, and there was nothing he could do about it at the moment.

_Freaking shackles._

“You’re sure you can walk with that wing? I can try to do something about it, mend it or something...”

The angel raised his chin stubbornly, lips squeezed in a firm line. “I will be perfectly fine. Come on, dearest,” he added, holding out his hand to Adam.

Crowley grimaced, but took the lead, walking to the corner and scanning the corridors on each side. No one. Strange, so close to Beelzebub’s throne room, but not unheard of. Maybe Lady Luck was on their side for once. He motioned for the others to follow him, and strolled ahead, trying to think fast.

Of _course_ it was about Adam, how the _fuck_ didn’t he think of that the instant Hastur had told him the angel was prisoner? Stupid, stupid him! No wonder Aziraphale had been so relieved to see him. Adam in Hell was probably both of their worst nightmare.

Torturing his angel to trap Adam. _Fuck them all!_

He was feeling the rage unfurl in his chest, the scales growing back on his skin, and he didn’t fight it. He would need his darkest instincts wide awake this time, and whoever would have to face him like that deserved what they would get.

They had broken his _wing_. The very thought made him want to gag every time he looked back at the two shadows following him. Wings weren’t part of the corporation, it was part of an angel’s or a demon’s true form, of their essence. Hurting a wing was already a bad blow, but _breaking_ it? It was not only excruciating to his body, as a broken bone would be, but also to his soul.

And all those wounds on his arms. The way his left hand hanged at his side… yes, Aziraphale’s spirit was still intact, he’d known it the instant their eyes crossed. But he was hurting badly, and he was powerless, and that made Crowley mad as… well, as Heaven.

_I’ll kill you for that. I’ll kill you all, you motherfuckers!_

He sensed the movements and the heat through his snake’s instincts before even hearing the footsteps coming their way. Turned around to signal at…

Shadows. If he squinted his eyes and focused, he could make out the two silhouettes huddling against the wall. So Adam still had _some_ power here. Good.

He took a deep breath and tried to look more… Hastur-y. The demon was closing on them, and finally was near enough to see him. It was a young, female-looking one. Crowley vaguely remembered seeing her in the forms room last time he had to ask for a new corporation. One of Dagon’s underlings.

He didn’t talk. Hastur wasn’t the greeting type, nor the polite one. The girl blushed deeply and missed a step.

Oh. One of _these_ ones, then.

“Duke Hastur!” she squeaked. “I… I didn’t know you were back.”

Crowley let out a growl, towering over her. “Didn’t know I should report my comings and goings to the likes of you.”

The girl shrank back, clutching some documents to her chest, blushing even more deeper. “Of course not, Sir. I misspoke. It is always a pleas… uh, a nightmare to see you, that is what I meant.”

Crowley fixed her with murderous intent before tilting his head. “You’re lucky I ate upstairs. I’ll be generous and won’t discorporate you. Now sod off, you useless filth!”

She scattered away with a whimper that sounded disturbingly pleased.

“What was that?” asked a voice right behind him, and it took all of Crowley’s self-control not to startle.

“Shit, angel. Don’t do that here! Hell makes me all jumpy! Don’t sneak out in a demon’s back, I could have cut your throat!”

Aziraphale stared at him blankly then rolled his eyes. “Of course you could. Who was this young lady and why was she acting so strange?”

Crowley shrugged. “Lots of younger demons are into Hastur. He’s like a rock star.”

“...A what?”

“For fuck’s sake, angel, live with your time! He’s… sexy, to them. They like him. Would use the word _worship_ if it wasn’t a bad one here.”

The angel frowned in confusion for a second. “But… why? Hastur is violent and dangerous, and you told me yourself he was considered a psychopath even by Hell’s standards.”

Crowley sighed, feigning annoyance when he really only felt dread. Aziraphale never had trouble handling a simple conversation, and there he was, having to think before every sentence. Not good. Not good at all. They had to get out quick, before the angel died from ichor loss. Cursed weapons and Hellfire were deadly to angels, because demonic destroyed their souls before they could get back to Heaven. And they were in Hell. _Everything_ around them was demonic. If he lost his corporation here, Aziraphale would cease to exist the instant his spirit started to rise through the roof.

“It’s like these young humans being fascinated with _bad_ boys or girls,” he provided while spreading his occult energy wide and far, trying to find the safest route.

“Oh,” muttered the angel in contempt. “Like that Grease movie where that poor girl changes everything about herself for so-called love, and the man that supposedly loves her seems pleased with it?”

Crowley’s chest relaxed a little. Aziraphale still had enough energy to complain about a bad scenario. Annoyance seemed to give him some strength. Well, he could annoy him. He had millennium of practice.

“The bad boy made changes too,” he answered, knowing perfectly it would irate his friend to no end. But hey, devil’s advocate was one of his favourite games.

 _To the left_. He felt no one this way. They started moving again, Aziraphale leaning a little on Adam, who was oddly silent.

The angel spluttered. “He bought a _bloody c_ _ardigan_! He doesn’t even wear it at the end!”

“Lots of people say it is feminist of her to have gained confidence and changed like that,” suggested Crowley absent-mindedly, feeling more and more uncomfortable. Were was everybody? These corridors were usually crowded. They should at least have crossed a dozen demons.

“Yes, and I am certain it is only a coincidence she decided to adopt clothes and attitude exactly similar to her boyfriend’s. Just show the movie to Pepper and see what happens, Crowley.”

“Not even on my deathbed,” answered the demon heartily.

Adam still didn’t talk, only walking besides Aziraphale with a slight frown.

“Kid? Are you… are you doing something?” suddenly asked the demon, understanding dawning.

The boy rose glassy eyes. “Trying a _don’t see us_ spell. But… I have to focus. Can’t talk.”

“ _Flames_ , Adam, I think you made everyone avoid this area. How long can you keep it up?”

The shine of sweat on their Godson’s brow was telling enough.

“Let us… accelerate,” whispered the angel, trying to follow his own advice. But they had slowed down a lot in the last minute and it was obvious Aziraphale was washed out. Looking at him closely, the demon realised his friend would never make it to the exit.

_Why? Why did I trust him when he said he could make it? I **know** he’s a bloody liar!_

“Okay,” mumbled Crowley, signalling them to stop. “Okay, change of plans. You two stay here, I’m gonna… find something to take these shackles off before you kick the bucket.”

“No. Too dangerous. Adam needs to… get out.”

“I can hide us. Hurry uncle Crowley,” urged the boy, helping Aziraphale sit (sag), his back to the corridor’s wall.

Crowley disappeared in the shadows, not even listening to the angel’s feeble protest.

* * *

“Adam...” started the angel, but the Antichrist was having none of his uncle’s self sacrificing speech.

“Shut up,” he ordered dryly. “Just shut up, uncle Aziraphale. Don’t you tell me to leave you.”

The angel closed his eyes in shame and fatigue, and opened them again with difficulty. Even in this state, he could sense the fear underneath that anger. Adam was terrified, rightly so.

_This is not the life an eleven year old should experience._

“Sorry, my dear child. I won’t say it again. I promise.”

The boy’s eyes shone in the dark and he kneeled near the angel, not daring to touch him. “What can I do? How can I help you? I don’t want you to discorporate, uncle Z...”

 _Well no danger of that_ , thought his uncle, not wanting the boy to find out just how desperate the situation really was. If only it was that simple, Crowley would just have had to injure him mortally and get Adam out while the angel travelled back to Heaven to find another body.

“I will be fine,” he lied. “I only need to rest for a minute. It will be all right, dearest.”

He was vaguely aware that his reassurances weren’t very effective, but his mind felt too fogged to think of something else to say.

He needed to gather whatever strength he still had and… and get up. Yes, getting up was…

Aziraphale closed his eyes again. This time, he didn’t open them.

* * *

_Shit shit shit shit shit **SHIT!**_ This was not supposed to happen, thought Crowley, running along the corridor leading to Beelzebub’s chambers, not bothering acting like Hastur anymore. _Blessed_ angel and his _blessed_ lies! Putting on a show until it was too late, like the stubborn stupid _bastard_ he was!

_I’ll never forgive you if you do this to me, Aziraphale. Don’t you **dare** die on me like this!_

This time, there was someone on the way. Several someone, realised vaguely the demon, too far gone to stop to think. A lesser demon wasn’t supposed to be able to take out four others. But they were surprised, and Crowley didn’t imagine one second that they could stop him. He couldn’t afford to stop. So he didn’t.

The yelling reverberated along the corridors, cries of pain and terror that ended as abruptly as they had started. Hellhounds barked, and Hell awoke brusquely like a kicked beehive.

In his isolated passageway, Adam heard the shouts of alert and the running. He huddled closer to his uncle, hopping his proximity would warm up the angel’s freezing corporation.

_He’s still breathing. Uncle Crowley will come back. He will come back soon._

But the sounds of all of Hell’s demons searching for their mysterious attacker was destroying that hope a little more each second.

Adam started to tremble. This was too much. He would not watch his uncles die trying to save him.

_I don’t care if we’re in Hell. I don’t care if have weak powers. I won’t sit here and watch!_

Adam’s rage had been boiling in a corner of himself since he had seen Aziraphale on that screen in Tadfield. Anger was not a feeling he let himself experiment often, not since Christmas and the realisation these feelings were connected to his demonic side. Letting go of it meant awakening something he still had to learn to control. Crowley made him swear not to open that door unsupervised for the time being. He could lose himself, had explained his uncle seriously.

He did promise. And Adam believed in promises.

But desperate measures...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, what a surprise, whump is back!  
> What can I say? It seems like I love to see them suffer. I swear I don't.  
> Comfort will come (but not next chapter, I'm afraid).  
> BAMF Crowley is far from over.  
> Aziraphale... weeeeeell... I don't know what to say. Aziraphale is NOT in a good place right now (but still breathing, so... good?^^)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has to act quickly if he wants to save his angel.  
> Adam needs to take a drastic decision.  
> And on Earth, someone is seeking revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so much easier to write!  
> Next one is already started, I hope to post it today too^^  
> Hope you'll enjoy it. Angst is still there, but there is also some fun to be had I hope. :)
> 
> Thank megzseattle for her beta. Thank you so much for your help my dear!!!

Hastur watched that bastard Crowley exit the shop with his beautiful corporation. He felt cramped, and uncomfortable, and his clothes were way too tight. How was he supposed to _move_?

A slight miracle, and he was wearing a stained under-shirt and sweat pants. Way better.

The vision of Crowley exiting the bookshop, glasses askew, slouched and wearing… _these_ clothes, had everyone in the vicinity cease their activities and ogle at him wide eyed through different windows, when they didn’t go out to stare at him from the pavement.

Everybody in the street knew Mr. Crowley. He was a little strange and dark, didn’t talk much and smiled even less, but he always was patient with children, and he was that nice Mr. Fell’s partner, which was enough for everyone in the neighbourhood to adopt him without a single question. Mr. Fell seemed awfully happy, so Mr. Crowley was one of them now.

The man in sunglasses walked past the butcher’s shop window. Mr. Fitzpatrick dropped his knife, which thankfully didn’t land on his foot.

Mr. Crowley never wore sweatpants. Never. The sight was terrifying.

A wind of panic blew over Soho.

* * *

Crowley wasn’t thinking clearly anymore. There was one thing, and one thing alone on his mind: finding a key, in Beelzebub’s chambers. Nothing else mattered, and there wasn’t any room for another information in his mind. He had opened all access to his demonic core, freed every darkest instincts he usually kept tightly under control in the deepest part of himself. He was burning, fear, violence and anger roaring inside him, mingling to create something that couldn’t be described, but wanted to _hurt_ and _destroy_. He was almost entirely covered in black scales, his corporation’s eyes shining strangely, like a black sun. Fangs bared, wings out, he continued to run, his claws hitting the walls when the desire to _shred_ was too overwhelming.

He couldn’t keep that form for long. His dark powers, the counterpart of angelic Grace, were burning strong and fast. But at the moment, he was more powerful than he had ever been, and was aiming at one goal, and one goal alone.

A key.

Black blood dripping in his wake, he continued to run.

* * *

Hell was, by nature a dark place, constantly exuding an ominous feeling. Every demon knew better than to turn their back to the shadows, and each of them was accustomed to violence and dread, which were fine feelings, as long as it concerned someone else. They were used to fights, and wouldn’t raise an eyebrow when faced with a colleague's destruction.

But that night, in Beelzebub’s quarters, would stay in the survivor’s minds as one of the worst of their existence.

This would become a legend, no one ever agreeing on what happened exactly, or who was responsible. Centuries later, the story of that event would still be one of the most popular amongst younger demons.

Some said the culprit was demon Crowley, which would have been the most plausible story, in view of the _other_ events that same night, except Crowley was a lesser demon, and even a Duke of Hell couldn’t have managed that level of mayhem.

Others said it was Duke Hastur, which could have been the truth. After all, Hastur was well known for his short-fused temper, his love of violence, and he was powerful. He wouldn’t have been the first to lose his mind that way. But Duke Hastur, when questioned buy Lord Beelzebub, only shrugged and declared he wasn’t the culprit. He seemed disappointed to have missed the show. That was enough to convince the Prince of Hell.

The last and most popular story was that someone had summoned by mistake one of the three Primal Monsters and that the beast had managed to destroy half of the Prince of Hell’s chambers and kill seven demons before the spell ceased to work and it was sent back into its dimension again. When the storyteller felt brave enough, they added in hushed tone that had Beelzebub themselves been there, they may have perished too.

Whatever the truth was, it was not to be discussed in Beelzebub’s presence. Not if you wanted to live.

* * *

Well, thought Hastur, time to go out for a stroll. With any luck, he would find that stupid Archangel in the park and have a little fun discorporating him again. Crowley had made him swear not to kill anyone, which was funny (like he would fulfil a promise. He was a bloody _demon_!) and had added that Aziraphale loved his neighbours very much, which was annoying (he didn’t want to hurt the angel. Well… not his _feelings_ , at least.) but discorporation wasn’t killing, and Gabriel certainly wasn’t one of the angel’s friends.

But first, he had to take revenge on that bastard Crowley. He didn’t know a lot about his enemy, but at least he was certain Crowley loved two things : Aziraphale and his bloody car. He would never try to destroy the angel, he loved him more than he hated Crowley, but he could do something about the car…

And here it was, black and shiny, just a little way away. He walked towards it, and pulled on the door handle.

Nothing happened. It worked for Crowley, right? He pulled again. The handle returned violently to its initial position, clenching viciously on his fingers. Hastur let out a yelp and started swearing, pulling on the blessed thing with all his might with his free hand. The handle opened again without a warning, and the Duke of Hell landed on the gutter. He jumped on his feet and howled in rage, menacing the bloody car with a trembling finger.

It didn’t seem impressed.

Hastur thought for a minute of summoning Hellfire to burn the dastardly thing, but he remembered very well that it was immune to it. He knew that very well indeed.

For a minute, he wondered if that traitor Crowley had stolen one of Hell’s Hounds. It could take any form after all, and it would explain a _lot_.

But no, it couldn’t be that, he would sense it.

He started to circle the thing carefully. He had to find a way to move it or his revenge would be spoiled.

The distinct impression that the four wheeled creature was mocking him wasn’t helping him to keep his composure.

* * *

Adam closed his eyes, and started embracing his demonic side. He felt when his eyes turned red, and the burning that was starting to ascend, about to engulf him and take control of him…

_It’s ok. Let it go, let it all go._

A hand gripped his neck brutally and pulled him on his feet. His concentration slipped, as his every instincts yelled at him to run away from this.

“Stop thisss. Stop thisss **now** ,” ordered a voice that sent chill along his spine. He nodded frantically, and the hand released him.

Adam stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall. It was Crowley. He _knew_ it was Crowley. But even with that knowledge, his mind urged him to get as far from that thing in front of him as possible.

The vision was terrifying. It crouched slowly near Aziraphale’s limp form and extended its claws. Dark blood splattered the white hair as the razor sharp nails draw near the angel’s head. Something snapped inside Adam.

“Get away from him! Don’t touch him!”

The distorted hand stopped inches from its goal. The thing turned its head to look at him.

Black, soulless eyes. Adam shivered. That was it. That was what Uncle Crowley had warned him against. Losing himself. Crowley had let go of the monster inside him and it had eaten him alive.

For a few seconds, despair overwhelmed him, and he felt an urge to give up, curl up on the floor near Aziraphale and wait for the end to come.

 _No way. Out of the question._ He was the leader of the Them, what would his friends think of him if their leader abandoned that easily?

He straightened himself, clenched his fists, and glared at the twisted thing still leaning over the angel. If it wanted to hurt Aziraphale, it would have to go through him!

“That’s not fair, attacking someone when they’re tired!”

The menacing hand opened slowly, black eyes never leaving Adam’s face. In its palm, the boy could see something shining. Something golden, a…

“The key!”

He turned back to the creature. Nothing had changed, there wasn’t the slightest clue that his uncle was still here, but Adam knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that the demon, _his_ demon, was in charge in there.

He ran clumsily, his legs still shaking, and hugged the repulsive body as tightly as he could.

“Uncle Crowley… you did it… I _knew_ you would do it.”

No lie had ever been so obvious, nor so sweet to Crowley’s ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't a lot of Aziraphale in this chapter... ok, there is NO Aziraphale. But our angel will be more present next chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Hastur each have a Very Big Problem:  
> Crowley is trying to save Aziraphale's life, at any cost.  
> Hastur is trying to open a car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, no, look at that! 12 chapters? But... there was only 10 yesterday...  
> I wonder why...  
> Are you surprised? I'm sure you're surprised^^  
> I am SO NOT good at judging my own stories...

“Do it. I can’t,” growled Crowley in a voice that sounded more animal than human, and once again Adam had to remember himself that it was his uncle talking to him.

 _Do what?_ He wondered for a moment, before realising the demon was presenting the key, shining in his hand. _Of course._ Difficult to open the shackles with these claws.

The boy snatched it and hurriedly unlocked the first shackle, throwing it behind him, before working on the second one. He waited anxiously, staring at the angel in hope of a change, anything, that would show some healing was at work.

Crowley hissed, and Adam’s head snapped to look at him. The demon was looking closely at the inside of the shackles. There were engravings there too. “What? What is it?”

“Hell runes. And Enochian.” answered his uncle, discarding the object to pull Aziraphale’s body in a sitting position.

“What does it means?” urged Adam, feeling this was something important.

“Nothing useful _now_.” Crowley tried to pat the angel’s cheek clumsily, hindered by his distorted hands that looked almost like giant talons. “Come on, stupid. Wake up. Open your eyes, Aziraphale!”

“Tell me what was written! Maybe I can help!”

“It doesn’t change a thing, kid. These things were linked to your cell. Stepping out made them drain his Grace. Effective against jailbreak.”

“But...” murmured the child, trying not to panic more than he already was, “they’re out, now. He should get better, right?”

The demon exhaled slowly. _Keep calm. Control yourself_. Restraining himself from ripping things apart was very difficult, and with the smell of an _angel_ … the smell of angelic _blood_ so close, he had to grab at every remaining bits of his sanity with teeth and claws. The monster inside him shuffled and howled madly. He grimaced. He had no idea how long he could keep it at bay.

“Yeah. He should. Keeping his corporation alive is using all he’s got left. Got to close his wounds first, that should help.”

He stopped patting his friend’s face, seeming to realise it wouldn’t change a thing, and looked back at Adam. “You’ve got to try it. I… don’t have enough, I think.”

The boy nodded seriously. He had no idea if he was able to perform a healing. But of the two of them, it was clear he was the one with the most remaining occult energy. He gently put his hands on the larger wound, in Aziraphale’s shoulder, and closed his eyes, focussing like the angel had taught him months ago.

* * *

“Gently now, my dear. It is all about balance. Healing too fast or too strong will hurt and could have dire consequences. You have to think only of the wound, and of the right amount of power to apply. It will be especially difficult for you, since your powers are immense and your control over them is mostly subconscious. What did you think when you separated me from Madam Tracy?”

“Hmmm… I want these two to get back to normal?”

“Yes. Quite what I imagined. And for Earth?”

“The same, really. It was easy. Why can’t I just… wish it healed? Your way of healing is _so_ complicated! Why do I have to learn it, uncle Z?” moaned the child.

“Because this is not Armageddon any more and while you still have an incredible amount of power and seem able to use it at will, it may not be always that way. Even if it was, you need to know the basis, to understand _how_ things work. It will both make you even stronger than you already are and help you avoid... unintended accidents. Anyway, large scale miracles are always easier to perform. Small ones requires precision. Come on, dear, one more time, and then we will go out eat some pancakes.”

* * *

_Balance. Think about balance._

Slowly, very slowly, the wound started to close. Adam let out a shuddering breath, his head spinning.

“Good. That’s good, kid. You’re doing great,” encouraged Crowley, trying to keep the beast inside him silent. It wasn’t easy, but his fear for Aziraphale was strong enough to dull the blood-thirst.

“This… this is very difficult, uncle Crowley,” panted the boy.

“Welcome into normal people’s world,” answered the demon. “Healing is exhausting for ordinary immortals. Not the best day to try it, right? Don’t worry, you’re doing fine.”

 _I would never have been able to do that if Uncle Z hadn’t taught me how to,_ realised the boy, making here and there the oath to stop complaining during his weekly lessons.

_If we were on Earth… I could heal him with a thought._

The second wound was a little easier to heal. The third was the worst. By the time all of Aziraphale’s injuries, save his wing, were healed, Adam was feeling as weak as the day he had caught the flu when he was eight.

The angel sat motionless, Crowley’s hands the only thing preventing him from sliding to the floor.

“Come on, Aziraphale!” growled the demon, his voice edged with panic. “Wake up now! You never sleep, it’s not the time to try napping!” Crowley shook the angel’s shoulders roughly, scanning his face in worry.

Adam was tired, afraid and worried. He hated this place, hated his helplessness. “Why is he not waking up? What can we _do_ , uncle Crowley?”

“I don’t know!” barked the demon. “Unless you have a cake in your pyjama’s pockets, I have no clever idea!”

Adam puffed up, his fear finding a way out through anger. “Well… Do something!”

“Do something! Do something! Why is everyone asking me that? Who do you think I am? A bloody Djinn?”

“Don’t fight, you two,” mumbled Aziraphale. Two heads turned to him. Two chests heaved in relief. Adam clenched the angel’s hand between both of his while Crowley carefully leaned his friend’s upper body back against the wall.

“Angel…” he murmured, low enough to hide the wild edge in his voice. “I swear to Something… if you go and try to die on me again, I’ll kill you. I’m serious.”

The angel smiled tiredly and tried to open his eyes. “I… I will take that into consideration next time, dear boy.”

* * *

Mr. Fitzpatrick and Ms. Meshle were the first to act. While the other passer-buys looked at the strange man yelling at a car with concern or amusement, they got straight to him.

“Mr. Crowley, whatever is the matter?” asked Ms. Meshle hurriedly.

“Why are you yelling at your Princess, mate? She didn’t do anything wrong!”

Had he been able to sense feelings, the old butcher would have known the car was slightly offended by that assumption.

“Are you sick? Did anything happen?” urged the woman.

“Where’s Mr. Fell, lad? Is he alright?” added Mr. Fitzpatrick with a frown.

Hastur snarled one last time at the blasted car before turning to the humans.

“The angel’s in _Hell_. They’re torturing him. I know how they do it, they will use all of their sharp tools on him,” he growled.

“What? What does that mean?” gasped Ms. Meshle in concern. Mr. Fitzpatrick, of course, understood the situation right away.

“These blasted doctors! What happened to him? Is he hurt?”

Hastur stared at the old man. “Of course he’s hurt! He’s been there for hours, what do you think happened?”

“Oh, poor Mr. Fell! Are you going there? You shouldn’t drive in this condition, I will bring you there, Mr Crowley, what hospital is he in?” asked Ms. Meshle, already reaching out for the keys.

No one heard the doors to the car lock quite firmly.

“Nah. It would be useless, I can’t see him,” explained Hastur, shrugging. He started to like these humans. They wanted him to be reunited to his angel. That was an agreeable sensation.

“Wha'dya mean, you can’t? Course you can!” yelled Mr Fitzpatrick, brandishing his cane.

“I’m not allowed to see him or talk to him,” declared Hastur.

Silence fell over the small crowd that had formed in the last minute, and Hastur suddenly felt a wonderful sensation. Anger. Oh, this was good. One of his favourite sins.

“They forbid you to talk to him?” yelled a third person, who had just arrived and had been rapidly filled in with the vital information : Mr. Fell had had an accident, had been transported to an hospital, and poor Mr. Crowley was persona non grata because he wasn’t a _real_ family member.

“They would let him pass if they’d gotten married” declared a woman. Ten scathing glares answered her.

“Why on earth would they _do_ that, Cathy? You don’t marry your roomate!” declared a very startled Mr. Fitzpatrick, looking at her like she was mad.

Ten tired pair of eyes turned to him.

Ms Meshle, aware that Mr. Fitzpatrick was a lost cause and would never understand the true meaning of the word “partner” where it concerned Dear Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley, answered to the other woman. “Other people don’t need to be _married_ to enter hospital rooms! This is not right! Don’t worry, Mr. Crowley. We will get you in. First, why don’t we go back to the bookshop, hmm? I will make you a nice cup of tea, that will do you good.”

Slowly, the crowd moved towards the bookshop. Hastur never had been happier. A dozen furious people were following him, bathing him in wrath and anger and the desire for revenge. It was marvellous.

Hastur had always liked mobs.

* * *

It took one minute for Aziraphale to be able to discern anything other than blurry spots dancing in his line of sight. When he finally managed to focus on something, he was confronted with a horrendous sight.

This wasn’t Hastur anymore, and this certainly didn’t resemble Crowley, but it was him without the shadow of a doubt. You don’t hang around your best friend for thousands of years without acquiring the ability to recognise them under any disguise. It was tall, almost entirely covered in black scales and feathers, and dripping dark blood like it had bathed in it. The angel made out fangs and claws, too many of each. But the worst of it was its inexpressive face, and the black, soulless eyes. The vision was frightening enough to cut through Aziraphale’s pain and numbness.

“For the love of God, what happened to you!” he cried, reaching out to touch the demon’s face. Crowley leaned back to avoid his hand.

“Don’t! I’m dangerous!” he growled, and Aziraphale stopped and frowned in confusion at the strange voice that sounded nothing like his friend.

“What do you mean, dangerous? Of _course_ you’re dangerous, that is hardly news, Crowley,” he chided, rolling his eyes before trying to touch him again.

Crowley growled, low and menacing. Was Aziraphale stupid? Couldn’t he see he wasn’t in control, that the monstrous part of his soul, the part he’d hidden for thousands of years, was out and ready to lash out?

“Stop that! _Look_ at me, I’m not… not _me_ anymore. Never will be. You’re an angel, and you smell… angelic. I’m not sure I could stop myself from hurting you. I could _kill_ you, Aziraphale! I _want_ to!”

The angel’s frown deepened, and his gaze hardened. He raised his chin in that stubborn fashion that meant there would be no way to make him change his mind. When he spoke, it was in a voice that could have cut stones.

“Nonsense.”

Adam, concentrating really hard to keep them invisible to prying eyes and auras, closed his eyes in relief. If his angelic Godfather said this was nonsense, then it had to be. Right? So uncle Crowley would be himself again, and they would all get out and everything was going to be just _fine_.

Crowley blinked, and for once in his life, had nothing to answer. Aziraphale pushed himself forward and firmly placed his hands on either side of the demon’s head. He squinted his eyes for a few seconds and tutted.

“My dear fellow, what in Heaven have you done? Be a lamb and turn back, will you?”

And it was obvious that the angel wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Crowley knew he was too far gone to go back to normal, he’d let his darkest side out for too long to be able to put the leash back on it. This kind of thing almost never happened to demons, but when it did, the only direction was the deepest pit, where the raging mad beasts could rip and destroy damned souls to their heart’s content. And sometimes, each other.

He couldn’t go back. This was impossible.

But the stern gaze of his friend brook no opposition, and Crowley knew better than to oppose him when he looked like that. There wasn’t any choice, really. Slowly, the demon gathered his thoughts, trying to put them in order.

Little by little, he started to morph.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be interesting. Crowley will realise one of his biggest dreams^^


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel, a demon and an Antichrist are escaping Hell.  
> ... Are they, though? Reaching the stairs seems afwully easy...  
> In Soho, something is getting angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post two days ago, but the end of the week was tough and I had NO inspiration to finish this chapter.  
> Thank Someone it's finally done!  
> I hope you'll enjoy it!

  
  


“Got you a gift, angel.”

Aziraphale took the offered dagger and hummed. “I guess I should not ask where you found this. Thank you, Crowley.”

With a flicker of his hand, the blade shone briefly. He slid it in the inner pocket of his waistcoat.

“We have to take those too,” he added, pointing at the shackles shining on the ground.

“What do you mean, ‘we have to take them’? Leave them here!” whispered Crowley furiously, eyeing the items like they were about to bite him.

“We have to bring them back. I have never seen Hell’s runes mixed with Enochian before. If Hell disposes of a mean to restrain angelic Grace, we have to give them to Heaven for study. They may find a way to counter it.”

Crowley growled and stepped closer to his friend in a threatening fashion. He couldn’t believe his ears. Heaven? Was the angel really thinking about freaking Heaven _now_?

“You want to _help_ _Heaven_? Help the wankers that tried to _kill_ you? What about _our_ side, eh? This doesn’t concern us, you promised we wouldn’t take sides and act only when _Earth_ was in danger!”

Aziraphale blinked. “I… I would study them myself, but I am not an expert at Hellish runes…”

“We’re in this situation because you agreed to work for your old side again! _Adam_ is in danger now because of that, and you’re still thinking of _helping_ them?” spat Crowley.

The angel blanched visibly, and looked away without a word, leaving the shackles on the ground.

 _I’m a bastard,_ thought Crowley.

“Let’s move,” he ordered in a sharp voice, trying to conceal his urge to apologize. He wouldn’t. He knew he was right.

Adam reached down and grabbed the shackles. “I think,” he declared thoughtfully “that it would be a good thing to know how these work. I don’t want anyone to use that on uncle Aziraphale again.”

The demon’s brain screeched to a halt. He felt his anger draining out. _Of course_ Aziraphale would want to find a way to render the tools that had been used on him ineffective.

_Shit. Me and my **stupid** mouth!_

Adam slipped the shackles in his pyjama’s pockets, which didn’t existed one second ago, and took Aziraphale’s hand.

“Ready, uncle Crowley.”

“Ngk,” answered the demon, taking the lead.

The walk to the stairs was strangely easy, and Crowley put it on Adam’s residual spell. At least until they got to Hell’s entrance. Aziraphale eyed the moving stairs doubtfully, eyebrows furrowed.

“I do not like it,” he declared seriously. “It really seems like a trap.”

 _Shame you didn’t think that before agreeing to come here_ , thought Crowley without saying it. His earliest outburst had been bad enough, and the angel hadn’t looked at him in the eyes since.

He was feeling wary too. There were always demons on door duty there, not to _guard_ it, since nobody tried to break into Hell and damned souls, once in, couldn’t get out, but to punish the poor sods that had annoyed some higher rank demons. Spending two months standing in the hall to guard a passage that didn’t needed guarding was the most boring thing. Crowley never had seen it empty until now. There were usually four or five guys leaning against the wall and yawning. On good days, there could be more than thirty.

This was _probably_ a trap.

“I’ll go up first,” he decided. “If there’s no danger, I’ll come back to get you. If I don’t then you’ll know something is off upstairs.”

The angel frown deepened, but he gave a tiny nod of approval. Adam looked from one to another.

“No, wait. I’ll go up. I will have my powers back once I’m there, so even if it’s a trap I will be okay.”

Crowley blinked. “You didn’t came through the stairs, right?”

The boy shook his head. “No, that Dagon woman had me sink into the ground.”

Aziraphale smiled sadly. “The building’s lobby isn’t considered Earth, Adam. It isn’t Heaven nor Hell either. You have to pass through the doors to get your powers back. Crowley still have Hastur’s corporation. He has a good chance to be considered an ally if Beelzebub has organised something to… great us.”

The demon ruffled Adam’s hair, smiling reassuringly, and the boy tried his best to answer, but Hastur’s face was really too scary when it grinned like that.

“I’ll go then,” decided Crowley, looking straight at his friend. “If I’m not back in two minutes...”

“It would mean something is awaiting us,” finished Aziraphale, and they exchanged a long knowing look. 

The demon sighed, relaxing slightly, and tilted his head. The gesture was so familiar that for a second Adam _saw_ his uncle inside the repulsive body.

“You,” declared Crowley, looking closely at his friend “You have an idea.”

Aziraphale smiled briefly. “Yes, I do. But it depends on one thing: do you think you could assure that if I appeared to be powerless and ready to be captured, Dagon would be the one to, ah… arrest me?”

Crowley pursued his lips, cocking his head this way and that. “Yeah…. Yes,” he added decisively “I can do it. Why?”

“Because I noticed something while I was… detained here. And I think that I have a way out, if we play our hand right.”

The angel looked at Adam, then at Crowley. “Firstly, Crowley will go up and check the lobby. Then if there is a trap actually awaiting us, he will have to play Hastur’s part and join Beelzebub’s side. Then...”

* * *

The bookshop was closed, which wasn’t particularly unusual, but people were talking in the backroom, and none of them were angel nor demon. This was different. This was not _right_.

Ms Meshle put water to boil, and started to open the little tin boxes over the sink in her search for tea while poor Mr. Crowley sat with Mr Fitzpatrick near the fire.

She was feeling ill at ease. Of course, she worried about dear Mr. Fell, but this was not the same. Since she had entered the shop, she’d had the sensation she was being _watched_. Her grandmother had a saying: “Someone walked on my grave.”

Ms Meshle had the distinct impression that a stampede was taking place on _her_ grave, and it wasn’t subsiding in the slightest.

In the library, a book fell to the floor.

* * *

Crowley was standing near Beelzebub, watching the stairs in anguish. There was no way they could get out of that one if the plan failed. Even with the angel at the top of his game, they wouldn’t be able to make it. The Prince of Hell was taking no chances, and the lobby was swarming with demons.

Crowley already had made sure that Dagon would be the one restraining Aziraphale. It hadn’t been that difficult. Asking Beelzebub to have that privilege with a bloodthirsty expression (not that Hastur corporation had any other) had had Dagon step in and declare she would be the one to escort the prisoners. A bleeding angel, his wings out? No way Beelzebub would trust any lesser demon for the job. So he was right behind them when his friend and Godson appeared.

The sight was pitiful. A frightened child, huddled against a wounded angel, both of them stumbling out of the stairs. Aziraphale barely raised his head to take in his surroundings, and his shoulders sagged in defeat as he seemed to realise their escape had failed. Beelzebub eyed them both with a strange expression that was probably the closest to a smile they would ever get.

“That was impressive, Principality. Really impressive. How did you get out of your cell?”

There was no answer, Aziraphale only hugging Adam tightly with his right hand. The shackle on his wrist shone in the lobby’s daylight.

“You wouldn’t have gone very far with thezze on anyway,” remarked the Lord of the Flies. “Secure the prizzoners,” they added with a nod in Dagon’s direction.

The Lord of the Files headed towards them at once with confidence. Aziraphale eyed her through his lashes.

The shackles dropped to the ground, and everyone in the room startled as the powerless and wounded angel’s arms grabbed Dagon from behind at light-speed, one of his hands holding a dagger at her throat. The demonic crowd gasped. Their leader squinted their eyes, their mouth setting in a grim line.

“Where is Raphael? What have you done to her?” asked Aziraphale angrily.

Beelzebub shrugged. “She ran away, like the good puppy she izz.”

 _Oh thank God,_ thought the angel. Heaven couldn’t win that battle. Not with the Host still suffering from an Archangel’s loss. Every angel should have felt Michael’s Fall, and Upstairs must be a place of sadness and desolation. He highly doubted anyone there were ready to fight. Raphael’s retreat wasn’t abandonment, it was the most logical thing to do in these circumstances.

He had the feeling Crowley wouldn’t see it that way, though, and decided not to discuss it with his friend later. The demon was angry at him enough already, and rightly so. He would certainly not jeopardise his Easter treat further by defending the Archangel.

* * *

Ms Meschle finally found the teapot, and was now in search of a cup. One of Mr. Aziraphale nice little mugs, with the wings, would be just the thing to calm Mr. Crowley while they were waiting.

Her eyes on the white mugs neatly stacked above the sink, she reached out.

Until her last day, Ms Meschle would be adamant: she didn’t care about the so-called experts, she knew what an earthquake was, and that was what happened at that precise moment. Everything in the bookshop fell to the floor: chairs turned over, lamps crashed down, and Ms Meschle was no exception. Poor Mr. Crowley found himself almost thrown into the fire (actually, for a second, Ms Meschle had been convinced he’d actually fallen into it) and Mr. Fitzpatrick miraculously stayed on his feet.

The books had somewhat landed neatly to the floor, not a spine broken.

A heavy cloud of dust hanged in the air.

Perfectly lined up on their shelf, the winged mugs seemed to smile victoriously as the bookshop’s interlopers ran out, half bent and coughing madly.

Bentley watched in interest as the humans and the Awful Mean Body Thief demon were chased out of the building. She nudged her friend in praise, and the bookshop sent back the equivalent of a polite little shrug. Getting rid of these wasn’t that hard, he assured.

Then Bentley felt him suddenly focus, and the cold, slowly building anger of her friend was something she had never sensed before.

She reached out, and felt it too: Aziraphale and Father were back. She felt their presence again.

Her engine roared, and she bolted on the road.

Mr Fitzpatrick waved frantically at Hastur, a fit of coughing preventing him to talk and making his face redder by the second. The demon blinked at him, frowned in annoyance, and snapped his fingers. The old man took a deep breath, straightening up.

“Someone’s stole you _car_ , mate!”

* * *

Crowley’s mind was reeling. Nobody dared to move. The two fugitives were outnumbered and had nowhere to go. But the dagger menacing one of the demon’s leader was preventing Hell’s minion to attack without orders.

One of Crowley’s dreams was to live an actual Mexican Stand-off. He could talk about it for hours, and usually mentioned it at least once during a nightcap.

Thing about dreams, though? They were not as exciting in the flesh. He hoped that Aziraphale wouldn’t realise they were in the exact situation he’d been ranting about these last thirty years.

“It appears we are stuck, Lord Beelzebub,” declared his friend with a calm belied by his piercing ice-blue eyes. “This is quite a _stalemate_.”

Their eyes crossed briefly. _I hope you are enjoying yourself_ , conveyed Aziraphale’s quirked eyebrow.

 _Come on! You think now’s the time to make fun of me?_ Was Crowley incredulous answer.

He moved closer to Beelzebub, his eyes fixed on them. Everything depended upon them now.

_I hope you’re right, angel._

“Let us pass, Lord Beelzebub, and I will release your colleague,” said the angel casually, as if commenting on the weather.

“There izz no way I will agree to that. The child will come with us, and so will you. Prepare to attack, everyone!”

The point of the dagger twitched in Aziraphale’s hand, and Dagon groaned. A rivulet of black blood ran along her neck. Beelzebub squinted their eyes. Aziraphale smiled coldly.

“I will kill her if you attack. It will certainly not help me nor Adam, but there will be one demon less to fight my brethren. If you value her work, let us go.”

The dagger sank deeper. Dagon didn’t make a sound, but her face twitched in pain.

Beelzebub seemed to consider for long seconds, tilting their head with a frown.

Adam pulled at the angel’s tattered jacket. “Hum, uncle Aziraphale? I think I kind of got my powers back...”

The angel gasped, and Crowley rolled his eyes inwardly.

“But, Adam, you should not have access to your Antichrist powers here!”

The child shrugged. “Don’t know what to tell you. I’ve got them. So what I think we will do now,” he added, looking coldly at the demons gathered around them, “is that we will go home and not be bothered ever again.”

“You’re bluffing,” barked Crowley, and Adam turned to him and _smiled_. Crowley took a step back.

“Do you want a proof, Duke Hastur?” asked the boy sweetly, raising his hand. “I can destroy all of you here and now, and be sure no one will mess with us in the future.”

The demonic crowd shuffled, trying to step back inconspicuously.

Beelzebub spoke slowly, watching Aziraphale. “If you kill us, Heaven will win. And Earth will have no reazzon to exist any more.”

“That’s why you’re still alive. Now let us go,” ordered Adam, pointing at Beelzebub threateningly. “Or I’ll destroy you first.”

Long seconds passed. This was it, this was the moment where everything had to tip over. Crowley greeted his teeth. He had to trust the angel.

Adam squinted his eyes, still pointing. Dagon gasped under her breath as Aziraphale squeezed the blade a little tighter.

Beelzebub looked from Adam to Aziraphale, then to Dagon. Crowley saw their uncertainty disappear as they squinted their eyes, glaring at the angel ferociously. Then they suddenly recoiled and turned to Adam. “All right, you do have your powerzz back. Stop that, we will let you go.”

“And never try to trap me again?” asked Adam firmly.

“Yes, we will leave you alone. Just get out of here, you and the Principality.”

The demon’s crowd parted in front of Aziraphale and Adam faster than the red sea at Moses approach. The angel, still clutching Dagon’s throat tightly, headed to the door at a sedate pace.

 _Hurry up, Aziraphale! You’re almost there!_ Screamed Crowley internally, trying not to bite his own hand in anguish (one of his current corporation’s instincts).

But the angel took his time, Adam following him closely, watching his back. Crowley didn’t breathe until the two of them reached the doors and Adam crossed the threshold. Then he closed his eyes in relief, thanking Someone for this.

They had won. It was over. On the pavement, Aziraphale let go of Dagon with a polite little nod, and Crowley couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he noticed that the Lord of the File’s neck was intact. Count on that stupid angel to heal a hostage before releasing them…

“Everyone get back to Hell!” barked Beelzebub. The demonic crowd hurried to the stairs, trying to get as far away from them as they could as fast as possible. Crowley walked to the glass door, pretending to glare at Aziraphale and Adam’s retreating backs while Dagon, then Beelzebub, disappeared from sight. Then he waited some more, and headed out.

The Bentley was waiting for them in a nearby alley, and his friend and Godson were already there, Aziraphale leaning on the car’s side, looking exhausted. Crowley patted his Baby’s hood, murmuring a word of praise, before turning to his friend.

“How?” he asked in wonder. “How on Heaven did you know Beelzebub would accept it? I know they're close to Dagon, but to let Adam go without even asking for a proof he wasn’t bluffing... did you use an angelic trick to make them compassionate or something?"

“Oh, there was no such trick, Crowley. I knew they wouldn’t let Dagon get killed. Adam’s little declaration helped them in not losing faces.”

“But… _how_ , angel?”

A familiar spark of amusement crossed Aziraphale’s eyes.

“My dear boy, how many times will I have to tell you? I can sense love.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters left...  
> There will be some angst, but mostly comfort and fluff from now on!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, our boys are back to the bookshop!  
> But everything isn't exactly back to normal... A broken wing is NOT something to take lightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I'm so sorry for the delay everyone!!  
> Work on monday has been very stressful with appointments to cancel for the week, then I thought confinment will give me LOTS of time to write but... I spent the first two days looking blankly at my screen without typing a thing.  
> I caught up on my series, though, so I guess that's at least something^^  
> But I'm finally back, so prepare for some fics to flow for the next two weeks!

Having his powers back, thought Adam, would probably have been wicked and a call for celebration if his first act as an almost omnipotent Antichrist back on Earth hadn’t been to hide angelic wings from human sight.

Not being able to heal Aziraphale sucked. Seeing him suffer that much sucked too, and feeling the tension between his two uncles while they drove home was even worse.

Now they were safe, he knew that the angel was replaying Crowley’s angry tirade in his mind. No need to have superpowers to see his guilt building up a little more every minute. And by the way his fingers clenched on the wheel in a death grip, he knew the demon was still very angry but too worried about his friend’s wound to let it out at the moment. It would have been better if his uncle Crowley _did_ let it out, thought the child with a sigh. A good yelling contest was everything Aziraphale needed to feel better. Instead of that, the silence felt heavy and much more accusing than a heated discussion, and with no one to talk to, the angel couldn’t get mad at anyone else than himself, something he was awfully good at.

They parked a little way away from the bookshop, and Crowley turned in his seat to look at his friend and godson in the back.

“Hastur can’t see you. I’ll go get my corporation back and let him get Down before Hell realises he’s missing. You two stay here.”

His voice wasn’t exactly angry, but there was a cutting edge to it, and he didn’t wait for an answer before getting out and close the door. Adam looked at Aziraphale, who smiled at him a little sadly.

“Are you all right, uncle Z?”

“Of course, dear. I just need a little rest, is all.”

The child patted his hand reassuringly. “It’s going to be fine. Don’t worry.”

* * *

“What the fuck happened in here? What have you done, Hastur?” yelled Crowley, looking around him frantically.

Hastur, still covered in a heavy layer of dust, made a face. “Hey, I didn’t do a thing! That thing attacked me!” he waved at their surroundings, but Crowley didn’t listen, still taking in the vision of horror.

“The books… what have you done to the _books_?”

“I didn’t touch them!” argued Hastur, crossing his arms. “It wasn’t me!”

“Oh, flames, they’re everywhere! Aziraphale will freak out! Are you out of your-”

That’s when Crowley looked at the Duke of Hell for the first time since he entered the bookshop. He gasped and recoiled in horror.

“Wh… What… Where the Heaven are my… are these _sweatpants_?”

* * *

Crowley’s ire, noted Aziraphale as the demon opened the door to the car, had not abated in the slightest. To be honest, it seemed even worse. Even with the glasses, he could see the anger in his every features as his friend helped him out of the car, and he grimaced as a new wave of guilt overcame him.

Crowley, of course, thought it was pain. His face softened as he closed the door after Adam and took the angel’s elbow to guide him to the shop.

“Sorry. You’ll be lying down very soon, angel. It will feel better.”

That demon was too nice, that was the trouble. He was too nice, and too good a friend, and Aziraphale certainly didn’t deserve him.

Adam, still concealing the three of them to prying eyes, squinted his eyes. Something was wrong in his uncle’s aura and he didn’t like that one bit.

“Okay, angel. There’s something you have to know before we get in. The bookshop… kind of kicked Hastur out. Sort of. I’m not sure. But there are books… ahhh… well, everywhere. Except the shelves.”

Aziraphale opened the door and looked around. Then he nodded and headed to the stairs.

Not even an “Oh dear”. That couldn’t be good, thought Crowley grimly.

“What’s wrong? Why is he like that?” whispered Adam.

“It’s all right, kid. It’s just… his wing is broken. As long as he’s on the mend, we’ll have to be careful. Wings and spirit are very closely related, so he may be… I don’t know. Different. For a while.”

“I’ll stay.” declared the child. And it wasn’t a question.

“Adam, you have to go home before your parents get up. What time is it? Shit, they will call the police!”

Adam raised a hand, eyebrows furrowed. “It’s fine. I’m here until the end of the vacations.”

Crowley made a face. “Kid. You were here last week, you came back home three days ago. I don’t think I can convince your parents to bring you back here so fast.”

“It’s okay, uncle Crowley. They know I’m here.”

Crowley gaped. “Did you mess with your parent’s mind?”

“I don’t _like_ that, but uncle Aziraphale is not right. And it’s because of me. I know it’s not my fault, but it’s still because of me, and I’m not going anywhere.”

And that was a very stubborn Antichrist facing Crowley. The demon knew enough about stubbornness to understand when discussing would lead nowhere.

“Okay kid. But you’ll have to sleep on a matress on the backroom. Bed’s full of angel.”

A bloodcurling cry made them both startle, then run to the stairs.

The bed was effectively full of angel. One Principality, laying down on the bed, and one Archangel, kneeling near him on the mattress, hands tainted in ichor.

“Oi! Get away from him!” snapped Crowley, Hellfire in his hand.

Raphael didn’t even look in his direction, her hands holding firmly onto Aziraphale’s wing. His face was white as a sheet, and Adam understood he was the one who’d yelled.

“What are you doing to him?” he shouted, the room getting suddenly darker.

“Calm down, both of you, I just put his bone back in place,” chided the Archangel, miracling a device on the angel’s wing before putting a hand to his brow.

“Sleep now, Aziraphale. And dream only of good things.”

Crowley’s Hellfire disappeared as he shook his hand. “What are you doing here? Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

“Did you want to be the one to do it?” answered Raphael. Crowley grimaced.

The Archangel looked at the sleeping angel and sighed. “It was Beelzebub, right? They did this to him?”

“W… yeah.”

“I see. Check on him. Don’t let him doubt, or despair. If he starts to act too weird, call me.”

She got up and looked Crowley in the eyes. “I know I’m not your favourite Archangel right now, leading him into a trap like this, but I need your promise you will call if his state worsens.”

“I’m not _stupid_. How long will it take before he’s back to normal?”

“At least three days. I have to go, there are… things to be done in Heaven.”

She disappeared without another word. Crowley shrugged.

“She’s lucky the angel is sleeping. I’ll yell at her next time. Come, Adam, you need to eat something and go to sleep too.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“You should stop it, uncle Crowley,” declared Adam’s voice in his back the following afternoon. He turned around to meet a very serious looking Antichrist.

“Stop what, kid?” answered the demon with a soft smile.

“You’re doing it again! You’re extra nice to me because I went to Hell, but you should be angry. It was _my_ choice to go there!”

Crowley frowned. “Wasn't your fault, and you didn’t have a real choice. There is no reason to be angry at you, Adam, you were very brave and I’m awfully proud of you.”

The boy squeezed his lips in a grim line and squinted his eyes, and _flames_ , thought Crowley, did he looked pissed off! Reminded him of Aziraphale that one time he’d accidentally spilled some red wine on an incunable.

“Then why are you angry at uncle Aziraphale? I know you’re unhappy that he didn’t tell you anything, but he had no choice too! And he _didn’t_ do it for Heaven!”

Adam’s eyes were shining with wrath. Crowley’s demonic core tried to recoil in fear. He didn’t let it show, that could only hurt the poor kid.

“Course he did it for freaking Heaven! Tried to save Michael, like the stupid blind dumb-ass he is!” Crowley knew the discussion was getting overheated. He shouldn’t yell at a _child_.

“He did _not_! He did it for Earth! Hell accused Heaven of abducting Beelzebub, and he knew it could be a trap, but there could have been a war! He was trying to calm everyone down! It would have worked if it had not been a trap!”

“Oh yeah? That’s what he told you, uh?” snarled Crowley.

“No. I _know_ that’s the truth,” answered the Antichrist with his own, chilling version of a scornful face.

Crowley’s eyes widened. “What?” he barked, taking a menacing step forward. “You looked into his _mind_? You promised to _never_ do that again, to anyone!”

Adam crossed his arms and pouted. _Pouted_! After such a declaration!

“I had to, you were being so ridiculous. I won’t let you stay mad at him. He didn’t tell you he was going to Hell, but he had no other choice. If he had, you wouldn’t have agreed to him going, and he would have had to fight you. He didn’t want to fight you, he would rather have you so angry at him that you won’t trust him anymore and go away, and honestly, you’re acting so stupid he’s probably starting to think that’s what you will do.”

Crowley’s mouth worked wordlessly for a while. “… herr… hm… what? What do you mean, acting stupid? I didn’t say a bloody thing! I didn’t yell at him or anything!”

“That’s the problem!” huffed Adam, rolling his eyes to convey how tiresome explaining things to grown ups truly was. “You’re not yelling! You’re not saying anything at all! You're taking care of him with your stupid frown and you stay calm. He’s never seen you like that, and he knows you’re angry, so he’s miserable because he thinks you can’t forgive him. And there is nothing to forgive, because you will not stay mad, right?” And that was a glare. A death glare from an _eleven_ years old.

Of course, Crowley reminded himself, the boy wouldn’t _force_ him to forget his anger. He could, but he wouldn’t. He could very well answer the kid that it wasn’t his business and stomp out. Except… except these eyes were way too shiny, and he didn’t like shiny eyes, especially on children. The demon’s ire deflated.

“Listen… I’m not… of course I won’t stop talking to him. I’m just angry, it will pass, is all. Aziraphale knows that, it’s our thing. He knows I’ll forgive him.”

He did, right? Of course the angel knew, they would always forgive each other, it would be just stupid of him to… but he was hurt, and a broken wing tended to break an angel’s core too, a little. Maybe… maybe Adam had a point. Maybe Aziraphale did think he’d done something unforgivable. Crowley had checked on doubt, regularly, because nothing was worse than doubt in an angel’s mind, but what if the angel was already beyond that?

Oh, for badness sake… he was the worse friend _ever_.

Unaware of his demonic uncle’s swirling thoughts, Adam shook his head and sighed. Did he have to explain _everything_?

“I saw what they did to him. Dagon showed me a video. I saw them breaking his wing, uncle Crowley.”

The demon’s face contorted into something very unpleasant as his hands balled into fists at his side. “They _show_ _ed_ _you_ this?” he repeated in a low, furious growl.

“What I think,” continued the child, ignoring him entirely “is that he suffered enough already and you should forgive him without his asking. You should be angry at Beelzebub and Dagon... And Michael too, I guess, but uncle Z already punished her,” he chuckled darkly, a pleased little smile flickering on his face, reminding his uncle of his half demonic nature.

There was a story there, realised the demon. He would have to get it out of the angel later, seemed like one he would love to hear. But for now, there was something more important to do. He reached out and hugged the boy tightly. Adam startled, then hugged him back, a little awkwardly.

“I’m sorry you saw that,” murmured the demon, not trusting his voice any louder. He was furious, truly, entirely raging mad.

“T’s all right. I’m fine. It wasn’t fun to watch, but he’s here now so it’s okay. It hurt a lot, you know. He tried to hide it, but I saw it was awful for him. So don’t hurt him more, okay?”

Well, _perfect_ , now he felt like the worst friend _and_ uncle on Earth. He would fix this. He would fix his angel, and fix his Godson, and then, he would _kill_ Beelzebub, really, really slowly.

“You’re right. I’m going to check on him, and you, you should get some fresh air. Why don’t you go buy some dessert?”

“What if I get abducted on the way?” joked the child, trying to lighten the mood.

“Well try not to kill them. Too much paperwork. Out you go now, and get back before dinner, right? Oh, wait… take some money. And take lots of different ones.”

“Can I take croissants?”

“Why not? Surprise me.”

The Antichrist headed out, and the demon watched him run away with a small smile before heading to the stairs.

Aziraphale wasn’t in his room. Crowley blinked, as if the motion would somehow conjure a sleeping angel under the heavy down, but nothing happened. He bolted out of the room, burying the fear threatening to overwhelm him.

The angel was… near. Somewhere. Safe, of course, probably… probably in the bookshop, that’s where.

He almost flew down the stairs, his head snapping left and right as soon as he got to the first floor. Not in the bookshop. He hurried to the backroom, hoping to see…

Aziraphale, safe and sound, standing in front of the couch, his back to him.

Safe, of course. Course the angel was safe, he knew he would be, right?

Crowley repressed the yelling that was already on his lips. Wounded angel. Tortured yesterday. No yelling, thank you very much, stupid temper.

“What are you doing here? You should be in bed, Aziraphale. Come on, let’s-” he gently grabbed his friends elbow, and only then realised it was shaking.

“Aziraphale? Hey, are you..?” he took a step to have a look at the other’s face and felt his heart froze in his chest. Aziraphale’s eyes were tightly closed, and he was white as a sheet.

And trembling like a leaf.

Crowley panicked. This... This was unprecedented. He’d saw the angel in a lot of states over the centuries. All of them, he’d assumed, but this was new. He didn’t even know what emotion was playing here, but it was NOT a good one. He grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulders without thinking and shook him.

“Oi! What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

His friend gasped and opened his eyes, crossing his sight only briefly before looking away like… well, like he was afraid of Crowley. The demon let go and took a step back, raising his hands in front of him in a soothing gesture.

“Sorry. Sorry, it’s all right. No touching, you’re fine, angel.”

That didn’t seem to calm Aziraphale at all.

 _That’s it. T’was too good to be true, that’s aftershock,_ thought Crowley in dread, almost expecting to see his friend fall apart in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” breathed the angel, so softly Crowley had to take a step closer to hear him. “I’m sorry, Crowley, I’m really...”

“Wh… what are you talking about? What’s wrong? For… someone’s sake, angel, just talk to me!”

Aziraphale’s eyes darted somewhere behind Crowley before he looked away again. The demon whirled on himself to glare at whatever was obviously upsetting his angel.

Couch. Fireplace. Coffee table. Mug.

Wait. Mug? Why was there a mug here? The only mugs allowed were Aziraphale’s cocoa and Crowley’s coffee…

Aziraphale always brought him coffee when he woke up, unless he was sick or injured. Always, even when he was cross or when they were arguing. But the angel was injured, and Crowley didn’t even look at the coffee table that morning when he woke up, so sure he was that there would be nothing to see…

Adam’s words echoed in his memory.

 _H_ _e’s miserable because he thinks you can’t forgive him_.

Aziraphale had made coffee, climbed down the stairs and put his mug at its usual place before getting back to bed, because he was feeling guilty and wanted to apologize. And Crowley didn’t drink it.

_Oh, shit._

“Are you kidding me, Aziraphale?”

The angel’s head snapped and he looked at him with wide eyes. Good. Eye contact.

“Do you really think I would be insensitive enough to do this? I didn’t _see_ the bloody coffee!”

“Cappuccino,” murmured the angel, looking down in shame.

Crowley took the mug and drank the cold liquid in one go. “There. I drank it. I’ll _always_ drink it, you stupid idiot! Now go back to bed before I drag you there myself! And don’t you _dare_ get up again until you’re healed, you hear me? If you want to make me bloody cappuccino, you will have to heal faster!”

He yelled all the way up to the stairs and to the bedroom, and continued yelling as he pulled the sheets and down on his friend’s form, and yelled a little bit more for good measure before getting to the door.

“Need something?” he asked grumpily.

Aziraphale, half buried under the down, shook his head hesitantly.

Crowley made a face. “Out with it, angel.”

His friend fidgeted, then looked at him anxiously. “Could you… stay a little? If it’s not-”

“Course. No trouble.” the demon snapped his fingers to conjure a chair near the bed and sat on it, spreading his limbs haphazardly. “Sleep now. I’ll be there when you wake up.”

“You don’t have to, just wait until I’m asleep.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Crowley snapped his fingers again, and a pile of books appeared on the night-stand. “See? Got a lot of occupation.”

Aziraphale hummed and closed his eyes, finally smiling.

“Thank you, my dear.”

“Oh, shaddup,” answered the demon fondly, opening his first book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter will be fluffy and nice and full of cocoa! WITH little marshmallow!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets better, with the help of his favourite demon and Godson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look at that!! LAST CHAPTER IS... wait... it's... it's not the last?  
> Don't look at me, I'm always doing that... but... in my defense:  
> IT NEEDED MORE FLUFF!

  
  


Crowley and Adam took turns, never leaving the angel now they knew a constant presence soothed him. Crowley used Adam’s “shifts” to pop over to foreign countries and bring back his angel’s favourite delicacies. Aziraphale ate little and slept a lot, but that was perfectly normal, explained Crowley to a slightly worried Antichrist.

“Healing a wing isn’t easy. Takes a lot of energy. I know it feels weird to see him sleep like that, but he will be right as rain very soon.”

“You’re sure he will still be himself? He’s so...”

Crowley grimaced. Yes, Aziraphale wasn’t feeling good, and that was an understatement. His confidence was broken and he doubted everything, especially himself. Raphael had warned them this could happen, and the demon was feeling pretty mad for not seeing it immediately. He was there every time the angel got back to sleep, to put a spell on him preventing any nightmares. There was a reason Aziraphale usually never slept, and now was certainly not the time to dream of humanity’s worst trials (or the Fall).

“He’ll be fine. It’s only that broken bone that’s bugging him. He will be perfectly all right in a few days. Promise.”

And indeed, Aziraphale’s slumbers became shorter and shorter, and colour came back to his face. His eyes lost their haunted expression and on the third day, he asked for a book. Adam grinned for a good two hours after that, choosing a volume for himself and reading on the bed next to his uncle. Crowley shook his head and rolled his eyes as he brought them both cocoa, but his indulgent smile was hiding a deep relief.

Raphael dropped by again this day, and took a chair to talk to them after having declared Aziraphale “on the mend”.

“Everyone is still a little shocked, but at least Heaven is functioning again. Tell me Aziraphale, what happened exactly? Do you know how Michael Fell? And why did Hell wanted to lead you into a trap?” She looked at Adam, calmly sitting at the foot of the bed, who had been watching her like a hawk as long as she was touching the angel’s wing. “I imagine this had something to do with the child,” she added, tilting her head.

“Yes, indeed. They wanted Adam to come to Hell willingly,” answered Aziraphale before recounting the events of the day, only vaguely mentioning his little session with Beelzebub, and focussing on Adam’s arrival and Michael’s Fall. Crowley stuttered for a while at that particular recounting.

Raphael’s eyes squinted in anger, and her brow furrowed, but she she didn’t make a sound until the story was over.

“Leading an innocent into Hell… how could she?” she finally murmured, looking at Adam again. “I apologise for her actions, little one. This will not happen again.”

“How can you be so sure?” answered the boy sternly. “You can’t know what your other friends think.”

“God can. She made an Archangel Fall, and no one knows if it was for luring Aziraphale into Hell, or you. Believe me, no angel will ever try anything against any of you. Falling is… worse than destruction, to angels.”

Crowley pouted “Rude.”

Aziraphale patted his hand with a small smile and Adam glared at the Archangel. She shrugged. “Anyway, you have nothing to fear from Heaven, child. I can guarantee it. Even Gabriel wouldn’t be stupid enough to approach you now. As for Hell...”

“I already took care of that,” answered the child with a (carefully crafted) neutral expression, opening the book in his lap to pretend to read it.

Crowley grinned proudly. Aziraphale looked at Adam and murmured “Well, we will discuss that later. Right?” and the boy nodded almost imperceptibly. Raphael tilted her head and opened her mouth, but Aziraphale’s stern gaze silenced her. Obviously, this was the Principality’s concern. She had more than enough on her plate already.

“I’ll be going then. I will come back to check on you in a few days, Aziraphale.”

“Thank you, my dear. That is very considerate of you.”

“Yeah, right,” snarled Crowley, “ _so_ considerate.”

“Hush dear, it wasn’t her fault.”

Crowley grumbled something that resembled a lot like “stupid wanker”, and Raphael’s head shot up to look at him. “What did you say, _snake_?”

“Oh for the love of God, enough with you two!” yelled Aziraphale, earning a wary glance from the demon, and a shocked one from the Archangel. “I am sick and tired of this. Crowley never was responsible for the plague. Or the Spanish Inquisition. Or London’s fire, either.”

“Well, actually, about _that_ one...” provided Crowley sheepishly, scratching his head.

“Do not interrupt, dear boy, I am talking to our guest.”

Raphael was looking from Aziraphale to Crowley in shock. “What do you mean? Of course it was him! I know it was! Gabriel told me it was Hell’s making, and I asked you if he had been rewarded for it! Did you lie to me?”

Aziraphale averted his eyes “Weeeeell… not exactly.”

The demon smiled nervously. “Let’s say I sometimes got a commendation I… didn’t _exactly_ deserve?”

“Humans are very inventive,” prompted Aziraphale in support.

“You knew about it...” realised Raphael. She shook her head, exasperated. “Of course he would lie to get commendations. You should be ashamed of yourself, Crowley! So you just enjoyed yourself all this time, taking credit for things you didn’t do, while Aziraphale worked all day long for Heaven! I shouldn’t be surprised, sloth is demonic behaviour after all...”

Her voice trailed off as she took in the blush that was more and more noticeable on the angel’s face. She squinted her eyes.

“I am almost certain I do not want to ask you if you ever did the same...”

“Oh, you don’t. Of course you don’t. What a preposterous thought, really… I am an _angel_! It would be… well it would be uncalled for… to even… think such a thing… let alone question me about it...” mumbled Aziraphale, fidgeting nervously with the cover, his eyes darting everywhere but to the Archangel’s face.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Right. Of course. That would be pretty insulting, now that I think of it.”

“Very much so,” assured the angel, pouting slightly. They finally shared a glance, and Raphael’s mouth tugged at the corners.

“Alright. I overstayed my welcome. Take care of you, Aziraphale. Goodbye, Adam Young… Crowley,” she added after a pause, nodding curtly. He blinked, surprised.

“Ahhh… yeah, right. Bye.”

They watched as the Archangel dissolved to ascend.

“Weeeeeell… that was something,” drawled the demon. “I can’t believe it...”

“I am very glad that little disagreement between you two is finally settled,” declared Aziraphale, smoothing the cover down.

“I can’t believe it...” continued Crowley like he hadn’t heard his friend. “I mean… I _can’t_ believe it!”

“Oh, really, dear, this is hardly...” started the angel, only to be interrupted by an excited, awestruck demon.

“ _You_ made Michael Fall?”

Aziraphale stopped mid-sentence, his blush rushing back all of a sudden. “Well… I… I didn’t _ma_ _k_ _e_ her… I mean, her own actions...”

“Are you telling me you had no idea you were going to push her over the edge with your questions? _”_ asked the demon with a knowing smile.

The righteous expression of his friend only made the demon’s smile widen.

“She was ready to sacrifice an innocent. I didn’t make her Fall… just pointed out her errors to her.”

“Oh, _bless,_ angel… remember me to never piss you off.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “This, my dear, would be a miracle. You are ever so annoying.”

“Don’t say thaaaat… you like it!”

Adam had closed his book and was discreetly heading to the door, leaving his uncles to their banter. Aziraphale smiled pleasantly.

“You will have to tell us what you did exactly concerning Hell, dearest.”

The boy grimaced, his hand on the handle. _So close_. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, uncle Z, I didn’t kill anyone. Just put a spell on their way to Earth… to know every time one of them shows up. I just want them to understand they shouldn’t mess with people. Or you two.”

“That is very nice of you, dear, but I still want to know how you intend to… make them understand.”

The child turned to face his godfathers, and squared his shoulders. He had hope to have more time to prepare for _that_ conversation. “Actually, I thought _you_ could make them.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


_Two weeks later_

Purson was happy to finally be able to go upstairs. She’d always wondered what exactly was happening in the human world, and she was eager to try her hand at temptation. Of course, her first concern was bringing back buckets to catch the endless leaks in Hell, but tarnishing some souls during the process was always a bonus.

She shook her head to dislodge the mud in her hair. The trip to earth wasn’t exactly agreeable. Not that she liked agreeable, of course, but…

Right in front of her, the air simmered. Suddenly, she couldn’t see the graves she was facing, her vision obstructed by…

 _Oh, Satan below_ … it was the traitor… and the angel that could command the Adversary!

The white-haired entity smiled sweetly, raising his hand, and started to talk in the same voice he used to present one of his magic tricks to children. “Hello, young person, and welcome to Earth. Can I draw your attention to that bottle in my hand? As you see, it is filled with...”

Purson squeaked and buried herself hurriedly back into the ground. Aziraphale’s face crumbled in disappointment.

“They never let me finish my speech!” he wailed.

“Aww, I know, that’s rude, angel. I’m sure the next one will stay longer.”

“I rehearsed it so well… this is not polite of them, really. I just want them to understand it is unsafe to travel to Earth at the moment.”

“I’m pretty sure they got it, Aziraphale.”

“But how? They never let me finish! I couldn’t even say it was Holy Water!”

“Since it isn’t, it saves you a lie.”

The angel pondered, then brightened. “Oh. I suppose you’re right! This is actually a good thing. I do hope they understand they are not welcome for the next month, though. You were supposed to intimidate them after the speech. They never stay to get intimidated.”

Crowley bit his lip, trying not to laugh. “They’re probably too busy being terrified by your little bottle, angel.”

“That’s very inconsiderate. I love seeing you intimidating people.”

“Aw, shaddup, angel. You only say that to make me happy.”

“I do not! It is true, I assure you! So… did Adam send you another coordinate?”

The demon consulted his phone, then shook his head. “Nope. Not tonight. What about something to eat? Fancy Italian? Rome isn’t far away...”

The angel’s face lighted up like a tiny sun. “Oh, I do love a good caccio e pepe!”

“Sold, let’s go,” declared the demon, starting to walk up the graveyard’s path. In the distance, the Bentley appeared abruptly, a little surprised.

Crowley chuckled as he took his place at the wheel.

“What is so funny, dear boy?” asked his friend with a smile.

The demon shook his head, amused, and started the engine. “I can’t believe Adam _grounded_ Hell for a month.”

Aziraphale folded his hands primly on his lap, and Crowley could _feel_ him hide a very satisfied grin under a falsely righteous expression.

“Well, my dear… they _have_ been rather naughty, after all.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah... not enough fluff in there... I hope I made you laugh (I laughed writing it) but that's not fluffy enough!!  
> And I need a tooth-rotting conclusion!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised fluff, and I delivered!  
> It was very soothing to write... I hope you'll enjoy it!

For the last ten days Crowley hadn’t slept beyond 9 am. His routine was simple: get up (twenty minutes), manage the stairs to the apartment (ten minutes, and at least three bumps on the head), preparing a mug of tea (five minutes), and checking on Aziraphale (ten seconds to one hour, depending if the angel was still sleeping or not).

After that, getting out to grab some croissants, the walk helping to clear his sleep addled brain, and spending the rest of the day in the backroom, watching his angel like a hawk and yelling at him every time he tried to get up from his armchair. This always ended in a long argument, Crowley grumbling while he brought the book, cocoa or take-out flyer the angel had wanted to fetch, and Aziraphale complaining that he wasn’t an invalid and could perfectly do it himself. As the days passed, the angel became more and more disagreeable, snapping at the tiniest detail and criticizing everything Crowley did for him. An outsider would have thought the angel to be the most egoistical and rudest person in the world. To Crowley, accustomed to the awful temper his friend got into when sick or hurt, it was an intense relief. A wounded Aziraphale staying patient and nice was the most frightening thing he had ever seen, and he took every criticism as patiently as he could. It was part of the millennia-long game they were playing, and he knew it was the only occasions where prim and proper Aziraphale could truly vent.

Neighbours came and went every day, bringing pastries, flowers or chocolates, all very relieved to see that nice Mr. Fell back to his old self after his dreadful ladder accident.

That morning, Crowley’s inner alarm clock reminded him it was 9 already, and that he had to get up. With a groan, he rolled off the couch and landed on the carpet with a loud thud.

“Hello, my dear.”

Crowley turned his head and squinted his eyes. A cream and white blur was handing him something. He reached out and his fingers recognised the familiar shape of his winged mug, and the little indent on the rim. This was the mug Aziraphale always gave him, and only him. He’d asked the angel one day why this one was his, and had been answered that this little imperfection was what made the mug perfect, unlike the others.

“ _Just like you,_ _my_ _dear.”_

“ _You mean… my eyes are my imperfection?”_

“ _Oh no, dear boy, I was thinking about your temper.”_

  
  


“Cappuccino,” announced Aziraphale.

“Ngk. You’re up,” realized the demon in an outburst of cleverness.

The angel chuckled. “Go back to sleep, dear boy. You must be exhausted. I have some catching up to do on accounting.”

Crowley sipped his coffee, a feat no human could ever achieve in that posture. _Oh, cinnamon stick. Nice._

“Done it already,” he yawned, as the angel shuffled papers on his desk.

“What is it, dear?” answered his friend absent-mindedly.

“Done the accounting. Last week.”

Aziraphale gasped. “Oh, Crowley, you shouldn’t have! This is ever so annoying, it must have bored you to no end!”

“Naaaah,” drawled the demon. “T’was fun. They’ll hate it. I checked every penny. Perfect tax return is evil work.”

“That it is,” agreed the angel fondly. “Sleep, dear, you look tired.”

“M’not tired,” grumbled Crowley, trying to open his eyes and barely noticing his mug being gently pried away from his grasp.

Someone snapped their fingers, and the sleepy demon melted into the familiar shape of his beloved couch. He didn’t even feel the blanket covering him. For the first time since that fateful day and Aziraphale’s disappearance, he slept like a log.

* * *

“Angel!” yelled Crowley, entering the bookshop with a large grin.

The four customers startled as the door banged loudly after him. Aziraphale took his (useless) reading glasses off and tried to appear annoyed. “Really, Crowley, do you have to be so noisy?”

“Why?” asked the demon, leaning against the desk nonchalantly. “T’s a bookshop, not a library. Angel, let’s close, we’re going out.”

“I cannot close on such short notice!” exclaimed a delighted angel. “That would be very bad for business!”

“Oh, Heaven forbid, Aziraphale!” gasped his friend, a hand flying to his heart, before turning to the customers that were gaping at him and clapping his hands. “Come on everybody, we’re closing! Get out, yes you too, miss. Out! Thank you for your visit, don’t come back, bye!”

In less than a minute, the bookshop was empty of any human, and Aziraphale was failing at looking stern. “That was awfully rude, Crowley.”

“Well, duh, who do you think I am? Ready to go?”

“Where are we going, dear? Did we have an appointment somewhere?”

“Nope. I thought we could give a try at that wing of yours. Long time since we last flew, right?”

The angel’s face lighted up and he sighed longingly. “Yes, it has been so long… oh but we can’t, Crowley. It is day time, and there are so many planes and… you know, things that could see us...”

“Radar?” provided the demon, amused. “Yeah, unfortunately, they’re all out today, even the army ones. Planes are all delayed for the next hours, and there won’t be a single tourist near your favourite cliff. So?”

“I knew it, you foul fiend! I knew Newt didn’t come for a crib! You were out messing with… computer… thingies!”

“Aw, you’re breaking my heart, angel. How can you trust me so little? Of course Newt needed a crib! I wouldn’t let my future God-daughter sleep on the floor! The unfortunate network breakdown was just a bonus. So? Interested?”

“Let me grab my coat. What colour did you choose? For the crib, I mean.”

“Green. It’s not bad. I guess you’ll call it _lovely,”_ snarled the demon. “There’s little ducklings on it.”

“It must be simply adorable!” exclaimed Aziraphale, walking excitedly towards Bentley, so happy he didn’t even think of locking up the door.

The engine roared loudly and faded away.

Behind the door’s glass, the “open” sign flipped to “closed”. The bolt clicked in place. Nobody heard it.

* * *

The seagulls listened to the strange voices echoing along the cliff. There wasn’t much else to do this day. Humans tourists were, strangely, nowhere to be seen, and there was no food to steal.

“I assure you I feel perfectly _fine_ , Crowley!” complained the first voice.

“Better safe than sorry. Stop arguing and sit down,” answered the second one.

“But I want to fly!” whined the first voice.

“ _Flames_ , you’re so annoying, Aziraphale, you’re acting like a big baby!” yelled the second voice.

“I certainly do _not_!”

“Let me check on your wings, for badness’s sake, or I swear to Someone I’m taking the car and leaving you here!”

Silence followed for a few minutes.

“Satisfied?” asked First Voice haughtily.

“Yep. Let’s fly. Last to reach the island is buying lunch."

The seagulls listened as silence stretched. Birds were not supposed to differentiate one silence from another, but this one made them uncomfortable.

“Oi, what’s wrong, Aziraphale? You’re making _that_ face.”

“I am not making any face.”

“Yes you do, it’s your yearly report’s face! You got it every time you discussed with that purple eyed wanker! What’s wrong? … is it something I said?”

“Something you… of _course_ not, Crowley! I was just reminding myself that… well, I am not a very good friend.”

“Wh… you… what?”

“I have been awful to you lately. Even now, after all the trouble you took to organise this delightful outing… and… and you have been so nice to me even though I did nothing to deserve it...”

“Okay stop right here, angel. Your mouth is saying stupid stuff. I mean, stupider than usual. I’m not _nice_. I’m never nice! And you’re not a bad friend. You’re a royal pain in the arse, I grant you that, but I wouldn’t have you any other way, so can we _please_ fly and not talk about-” the voice stopped abruptly, only to complain a few seconds later.

“Oh, come _ooon_! If you feel that guilty, buy me a good Saint Emilion! I’m a _demon_ , I don’t do _hugs_! What about my image? People can _see_ us here!”

“So sorry, my dear. It won’t happen again.”

“Don’t smile, you stupi- Oi! Wait for me, you cheater!”

The seagulls didn’t hear the rest of the discussion, too occupied trying to fly as far away as possible from the two terrifying giant eagles that suddenly dropped from the sky.

The scariest thing was the laughs. Eagles don’t usually laugh.

They came back exhausted and more relaxed that they had both been in weeks. Crowley sprawled on the carpet, close enough to the fire to be uncomfortable, had he been human. Aziraphale joined him a little while later, handing him a cocoa with marshmallow that the demon took with a long suffering expression that conveyed to anyone looking that he didn’t like cocoa and marshmallow and was only doing a favour to his recently wounded friend in accepting it.

His credibility would have suffered had anyone been there to witness him drinking the beverage with a dreamy smile.

Aziraphale put his mug down, stretched with a contended sigh, and grinned at the demon lounging on the carpet.

“All right, dear, show me your wings.”

“Naaah, s’okay. I’ll do it later. Go to sleep, you need rest.”

The angel tutted. “I am perfectly fine, thank you. And you need some grooming after that unfortunate dive. Salt water is not good for feathers.”

“You pushed me! That wasn’t unfortunate at all, it was deliberate!”

“I am certain I do not understand what you are talking about, my dear,” retorted the angel with a little smile.

“You’re a bastard, that’s what you are,” growled Crowley, spreading his wings and laying his head on his arms with a pout.

“I have been told it was part of my charm,” answered his friend, sitting crossed legged next to him and gently unfolding a black wing on his lap.

Crowley chuckled, trying and failing to open his eyes as the angel started to carefully comb his fingers through the black feathers, getting rid of every particle of salt or sand.

“What charm?” he mumbled, rapidly falling asleep. “No one can be charming… in tartan...”

Aziraphale hummed as he continued his ministration, sending a little miracle to turn the demon’s collar from red to tartan, and wondering with a mischievious smile how long it would take his friend to realise the change. He was fairly certain Crowley would be even more efficient in his next temptation looking like that.

After all, tartan was stylish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this story, you encouragements means the world to me!!  
> Extra thanks to my dear megzseattle for being both an amazing friend and beta!!!  
> You're the best, Meg!!
> 
> See you all very soon for some ficlets. I have no idea for another long story yet, but several for one-shots, so you won't get rid of me anytime soon, I'm afraid^^.


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